


Waves Know Shores

by quincindentaldreams



Category: Tegan and Sara (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 89,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quincindentaldreams/pseuds/quincindentaldreams
Summary: Tegan and Sara struggle to come to terms with the unavoidable. A telling of trials and tribulations throughout a career that's just as constricting as the connection shared between them. Will they find a way to keep their heads above water, or is the pull truly unforgiving?





	1. Chapter 1

Sara

 

It’s freezing this time of year in Portland, not as bad as Calgary or Montreal, but definitely cold enough to make me wish I took a blow dryer to my hair before stepping out into the frigid morning breeze. I huff a cloud of hot breath into the icy air, juggling a steaming cup of coffee and my keys, while trying to shove my Blackberry and wallet into their rightful pockets and lock the front door. It’s times like these I wish I could drive. The twenty minute walk is sure to kill me, and if I wasn’t so terrified of looking like a moron, I would have hitched a ride on Emy’s bike when she left earlier to meet Tegan for coffee. 

I all but demanded that Emy stay with Tegan and I while recording this album, not in the general mood to deal with Tegan’s emotions once she gets the chance to process her feelings after listening to the cynical and cryptic songs I’ve written about her. While sending recordings to each other over the last year, I’ve barely had much of a response back to my songs. The texts were never any longer than: “sounds good”, “write a bridge” or “use the Gretsch, not the Les Paul”. I haven’t even seen her since she arrived in Portland, being that Emy and I were already in bed when she flew in from Los Angeles. I didn’t get a response from her when I messaged her telling of Emy’s extended stay, either. I assume that means she doesn’t give a shit. 

From what I can hear in the songs she’s sent me, she’s still heartbroken from the blow out fight we had after touring for So Jealous, when she found out I was seeing our art director Emy, which I fully expected. I’d only seen Tegan’s face so heartbroken one other time—the day I left her and our house to move to Quebec. Even Mum was angry at me, though she doesn’t know why we fought, she knows it was bad. Making it three people in the ‘fuck Sara’ club, including myself. 

Synchronicity kicks in and my mother’s ring tone goes off from the phone that I just finished stuffing into my pocket. 

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, exhausted from the key getting jammed in the door and only having two hands to get myself situated. I sit my coffee down on the porch rail, fishing my phone out of my hoodie. 

“Good morning, Mum.” I pause to catch my breath and rip the key out of the door knob.   
“Hey Sara, are you girls finally moved in?” I can’t tell if she’s talking about me and Emy or me and Tegan. 

“Emy and I got in ‘round 6 yesterday, yeah. I’m not sure when Tegan flew in, but she’s definitely here. She left the kitchen a fucking mess this morning.” I fuss, finally making my way onto the street. God, I hope it doesn’t rain when I’m coming home tonight. I don’t have the money for a cab. 

“Sara. . .” Mum’s voice falls with disapproval. “You two are nearly 27 years old. She’s your sister. . . you two used to love each other.”

“I’m aware, Mum. Trust me, I’m fully aware.” I sigh with her. 

“Just take care of yourself, Sara. Take care of Tegan. You guys need each other.”

“Mum, don’t-”

“I’m serious, Sara. I don’t want to hear any reports about you two fighting. Try listening to each other instead of arguing. I love you. Give Tegan and Emy my love. Don’t drink a lot of alcohol. Get enough sleep.” Mum lists her orders, one after another, without taking a breath. Then adds, “Remember what I said. I’ll talk to you later, sweetheart!” 

I huff and push my sunglasses up so I can rub my eyes. “Bye, Mum. I love you too.” I respond to silence on the end of the line.

The walk to the studio is soothing, but not soothing enough to calm my anxiety. I haven’t seen Tegan in a year—what if she shaved her head again? 

What if she completely avoids talking to me? 

What if she doesn’t love me anymore?

I feel the bile rise in my stomach at the thought of that. I’m disgusted with myself. I’m supposed to be over this. Completely fucking over this. I’m so angry at the world. 

Two knocks on the green door of the studio-slash-house and Emy’s opening it for me, with that massive adorable smile. I brush my feet on the doormat and set my bag down, moving to give her a quick kiss. I can’t see over Emy’s shoulder to know if Tegan is sitting on the couch or not, but I hear Chris’s voice coming from the right of me in what I assume to be the kitchen. 

“Is that my favorite Quin?” He laughs, making it hard to contain my giddiness at the fact that Chris Walla is producing our record. 

“Oh fuck off, Chris!” Her voice. 

I’m simultaneously anxious and calm all at once. She’s in the kitchen too, not following Chris when he comes around the corner to hug me. I see Angela’s camera filming me for the video chapters we’ve decided to record and release with the albums. I remember to put on my mask—something that I still have trouble doing whenever I’m around Tegan and other people. My thoughts turn dark, reminding me of how sick I am and how shitty this life I’ve been born into is. 

Then she’s rounding the corner and for the first time in a year I feel safe. I feel at ease. I feel okay. For the first goddamn time. How fucked up is that? How fucked up am I?

Chris lets go of me, but Emy’s hand is still resting on the small of my back and suddenly I’m overwhelmed. The air is too hot, even though the door is open, allowing winter to come in. There’s too many people around me and she’s looking at me, blank faced.

“Tegan this is Sara, Sara meet Tegan.” Chris jokes, making everyone laugh and get back to their business. 

I don’t laugh, choosing instead to swallow down my guilt and self hatred. I try to ignore the magnet pulling us together. The way her eyebrows are low on her face tells me nothing, they’re so void of any emotion. Except hurt. She realizes the look on my face is one I give before a panic attack, thanks to our life we’ve spent together. Emy doesn’t even recognize it, she never will, no one will ever see me the way Tegan does and I damn myself because of that. Suddenly she’s there and I watch as her right arm swings over my shoulder, Emy’s arm is pulling away to make room for Tegan, and now she’s hugging me. To calm me down. To keep people from asking why Sara’s having a panic attack two seconds after she seemed fine. And there it is, her smell. In an instant, I am every bit content and disgusted with myself. It takes about three seconds for me to pull away from her—I’ll drown if I stay.

I pry myself out of the hug like the selfish monster that I am, turning my face away from her and shrugging out of the embrace. I mean who else greedily uses someone for their comfort then rejects it? I peek at her face as I walk towards the kitchen, and no one else would be able to visibly see the way Tegan feels right now but because of that goddamn twin thing, it doesn’t go unnoticed and it doesn’t go unfelt. We feel it as one. 

Hurt. 

All Tegan ever does is feel fucking hurt thanks to my fumbling hands and my careless actions. The disappointment flashes in her eyes for a mere second, a slow blink, but in my head it lasts for hours.   
I need a valium. A drink. A cigarette. A joint. A normal fucking life would be nice.

Two hours later and we’re in the basement, getting ready to record vocals for one of Tegan’s songs—Are You Ten Years Ago. I don’t remember listening to this one. Did she not send me an mp3 of it to me? Fuck. Do I remember listening to one with this title? 

Chris presses a button in the sound booth, I’m on the couch behind him, watching Tegan step to the microphone and clear her throat. Another button is pressed and a drum track comes on and I lift my brows in confusion. A drum track? She’s about to sing to a beat? 

Her eyes are closed and I watch, two fingers pressed to my chin as I listen to the intro—I am taken I am yours, I’m up and doing circles. I am taken, I am yours. I’m up and doing circles.

As the first verse falls in, my heart drops to my stomach and breaks into a million little pieces. God, I knew she would do this. I saw it coming. I caused it and I knew from listening to the mp3’s that every one of her songs on this album were ever so discreetly written about me, but it puts her heartbreak into another perspective when I’m listening to it. It’s raw and haunting, telling too. Telling to me. Telling me how badly the hole in her chest hurts, and how badly she’s needing the one who caused it to stitch it up and mend it again. 

She’s grabbing at her headphones to belt out the chorus again, using her left hand to pull her shirt away from her chest. I cross my legs. Will I be able to sit through this every day without killing myself? 

I notice Emy walk into the room and sit next to me, also noticing Angela’s massive video camera pointed to Tegan and not me. Good. The room is closing in again. I need water and fresh air. 

“I’m gonna step out for a second and get some air on the porch. Come get me when Chris says it’s my turn to record backing vocals.” She smiles and nods, enjoying the process of watching us record. On my way out, I steal one of Chris’s menthols and his lighter from the living room coffee table, hoping a cigarette will get me through the rest of the day.

***

I leave the studio right at nine, an hour early, muttering something about a headache and kissing Emy on the way out. We usually start to wind down around nine and gather in the living room to discuss tomorrow’s game plan. I chose to dodge it, knowing it would open the door to Tegan saying more than two words to me. Not wanting to deal with her comments on my weight loss or the fact that I need to be more cheerful while filming. I also got the panicking news that Emy will have to fly back to Montreal in two days due to a last minute deadline. Although I love her work ethic, I feel like I’m suffocating. Without Emy at the house, I have no excuse to avoid Tegan and the inevitable. 

I use the spare dollar bills I found in my bag to get a cab back to the house, not wanting to walk in the pouring rain and opting out of the bus while I’m alone in an unfamiliar city. I need a glass of whiskey, a bath, and a nap. I give the address to the driver and buckle in, pulling my hoodie tighter around my waist and leaning my head against the cool hard glass of the cab. He’s pulling up to the house in less than five minutes, snatching the ones out of my hand for the fare. I shuffle my way out of the cab and up the stairs, tears leaking out of my eyes at my life and what I’ve done to myself. I find myself in the kitchen, crying and searching for the bottle of scotch Emy bought for me yesterday. I screw the cap off and take a large swig. Fuck the glass, I’ll drink from the bottle tonight. 

Just as the warmth settles into the pit of my tummy, I hear the front door open. My head hangs as I set the bottle down on the counter, praying that it’s Emy and not Tegan. Or at least Emy and Tegan. I watch as a lone tear hits the black granite countertop.

“Oh, you’re here.” I hear her voice from behind me. Another tear on the countertop. Day one and my resolve is already out of the fucking window. I don’t respond, silently begging that she’ll leave me alone.

“Angela and Emy are going to get some beer for us after they finish creating the set for the Forest Fones. We’re going to film the ‘Are You Ten Years Ago’ episode tonight in the basement.” 

Basement? I was unaware this place had a basement. I also thought we were going to start filming tomorrow. I reach for the bottle again and bring it to my lips, taking an even bigger swig before turning around to face her. My fingers fumble to screw the cap on. 

“Okay,” I mumble, finally looking up at her through my lashes. She’s taken her jacket off by the door I assume, leaving her in just a plain grey sweater. I see a white t-shirt underneath the v-neck collar. I see too much of her skin for my sanity to function properly. 

“Are you sure that you want to be drunk when we’re filming?” Her eyes fall in disapproval, picking at something underneath her nails. 

I sigh, already over this conversation. “I’m not getting drunk. I’m having a drink.” 

Her eyes meet mine, as if she instantaneously knows that I’m lying. Which she probably does. Which only makes me angrier, sick of knowing that someone knows me as much as I know myself. 

“You don’t drink scotch just to have a drink, Sara.” I sigh again. “I’ve met someone,” she says quickly, quietly, still fumbling with her fingers. Breaking me down with three measly words, I feel my knees buckle, uncontrollably.

The hole in my chest grows an inch, and I feel it ripping and tearing as it burns like the paper of a cigarette. It’s an indescribable sadness, the feeling you get in your chest when you see a car wreck. Like watching your house burn down. Completely and utterly indescribable. My gaze is clouded over, the dam about to break as I lift the bottle up to my lips again. I force the strong liquor down in one, two, three gulps before she’s in my face and taking the bottle away. She backs up to her original place before she silently puts the cap back on. 

I’m back in the same panicked headspace from when we were nineteen and she’s in my room, broken down in the midst of a panic attack on the floor, after telling me about the way she felt for me and getting rejected. I was sure she was going to die that night as I stood there motionless, watching her gasp for the air that wasn’t in her lungs. Fear had frozen me, fear has frozen me. For the third time today, I feel like dying. 

“She and I aren’t seeing each other, though.” She near whispers, I see sadness cross her face as she tells me her situation. The hole grows back half an inch in my chest, like watching a tornado on the news as it lifts back up into the sky, ending the destruction. 

I’ve never in my life felt as far away from her as I do at the moment. I stay silent and watch her. I couldn’t speak to her if I tried. The hurt I held on my face must have left me, traveling down through my body and out of my feet onto the floor, only to move into her and through her veins, into her face, the face we share. Unlike me, she has never had the restraint to keep tears at bay. I find myself wanting to reach for her, instantly reminded of the look she held as she watched me leave the house we shared. I wonder how many times I’ve disappointed her in my lifetime. I wonder if she remembers them all or if each new happening is a brand new form of torture for her. 

It takes a second for me to understand where her disappointment is coming from, she saw how relieved I was when she told me they weren’t seeing each other. I didn’t mean to let that show. The first tear falls from her eyelids and hits the floor. 

“You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever known.” It’s a whisper. “You leave me, you tell me how sick we are- how sick I am. As if I’m fucking blind, like I don’t see what I do to you.” She’s in my face now. “You leave me, and you get what? Jealous? That I’ve met someone?” The waterworks flow freely. “Well congratulations,” her gaze falls to my feet and back up to my eyes, searing into me like hot coal. We’re face to face now, noses nearly touching when she spits, “She doesn’t want me either, you two should get along great.”

“You have no clue about anything, Tegan.” 

My lips snap at her, fed up over her projecting and pretending like leaving her was the easiest thing in the world for me to do. As if she isn’t the only one in the world I think I’ll ever be able to love as much as I do. She made the decision to not speak to me after I left. I didn’t choose that. I would’ve never chosen that for us. 

“Fuck you.” She turns around, like I’m going to allow her to leave the second I start defending myself after she started this bullshit in the first place. I reach out and jerk her arm to turn her back around to face me. I feel the heat in my face. I feel the heat beneath my belt at the sight of her lip curling and cussing at me.

“No fuck you, Tegan. I-“

And without warning there’s a warm pressure on my lips, and she’s kissing me and my head is reeling, spinning out of control at the taste and smell of an addiction I thought I had curbed. And before I know it, my back is slamming into the countertop and she’s right there with me, she’s there and she’s on top of me. And my hands are simultaneously grasping at strong shoulders, tangling in soft brown strands. Suddenly, I feel my jeans become undone in one quick motion, before I could even comprehend what she’s doing to stop her, her hand slips under the material to find a hot pool of validation. I’m lit up on pins and needles, guilty for what I know she has found and guilty for the satisfaction in her eyes as her jaw clenches. 

It’s the first time she’s ever touched me, and the war in my head is paused at this, ready to let her continue. But she doesn’t continue, those hazel eyes like mine grow darker with a sadness I just can’t put my finger on as she retracts her hand back to her side and looks into my eyes—my entire soul. I can feel the blush and heat spread down my neck to my chest. I am thankful for the hoodie to cover the pink tint. 

“You can lie to me and the world for the rest of your life, Sara. I can’t stop that. But it must be so depressing for you to know that you can’t lie to yourself.” She whispers, leaving me unable to speak and turning around to leave me in the kitchen once more. Before she steps out, her face turns and eyes stare distantly towards the floor.

“I don’t want to argue with you while we’re here, I’m so sick-” her voice breaks, “of us being unhappy with each other. We have to share this house for the next month and then we’ll be on tour for a year, so we might as well try to act like the happy sisters we are. When I leave this room, I’m going to pretend like none of this ever happened between us. I’m going to pretend like I don’t love you since that’s what you want. . .since it’s so easy for you.” She turns her face from me to keep me from seeing her cry, before turning back towards me and exposing her red, swollen eyes from the tears. It’s all too much to process. I feel like I’m drowning at the thought of her not loving me anymore, and yet there’s also the sick sense of relief at the shot of a normal life with someone, no matter how much I have to pretend that I love anyone other than her. 

I watch her leave and head to her bedroom as I hear the door open, Emy and Angela’s voices and laughter spreading throughout the entire house. My hands dart to my opened jean button, barely closing it before Emy rounds the corner into the kitchen, arms carrying two six packs. She notices my swollen eyes and the dried tears on my cheeks. 

“Sara, what happened?” The six packs are in the refrigerator and her arms are around me before I have a chance to explain myself and evade the situation. 

“Nothing, just had a little argument with Tegan before you guys got here is all.” I let my head rest on her chest for a while as she soothingly moves her hands up and down my back. Emy stands a good three or four inches above me, so when she hugs me, it’s comforting but overwhelming. I don’t usually enjoy being touched unless I initiate that I want it first, which is not rare, but not frequent either. 

“You guys need to stop arguing. What was it for this time?” I pull away from her, wanting this conversation to discontinue. 

“It’s nothing, Emy. Same things we always fight about. You know how it is with her. What’s the plan with Forest Fones?” 

She shakes her head, disappointed, but accustomed to the fact that I barely talk about Tegan or the disagreements Tegan and I have. 

“Angela is downstairs right now setting up the recording equipment and the set. You guys will just discuss what you did throughout the day and I’ve made a list of people we can call on every video chapter, your friends and family, including backups in case someone doesn’t answer.”

I nod my head; hopefully our fans will enjoy this and all of the work that goes into pulling this off. I love the way Emy works artistically. I love the way her brain thinks. I would have never been able to come up with this stuff. 

“Well, let’s get to it.” 

I follow Emy to a door near the back porch that leads to the basement stairs, pretending I totally knew that it was there. I enter into the main room where there are two seats with Tegan and I’s names on them. Between the seats sits a green box with squares of fake grass on it, and a cardboard cutout of an old school dial phone. Behind that set up is a bunch of cardboard evergreen trees that Emy has taped together for a backdrop against the black sheet she’s hung against the wall. Angela’s fixing her camera to the tripod when I see Tegan come down the stairs behind us with a beer in hand and a smile on her face, her left hand is wrapped around the Blackberry that’s attached to her ear. 

Tegan only gives her crooked smile when she’s flirting. 

“Yeah, that works. I’ll take the bus to come get you. . .you said your plane lands at seven?” She nods her head, concentrating. 

Wait a second. She’s coming here on Friday? Two days after Emy flies out? 

I clench my jaw and bite down the jealousy—the overwhelming feeling to snatch the phone out of Tegan’s hand and tell the bitch she’s speaking to that she will never be good enough for Tegan. Honestly, no one ever will. But at the same time I know that I can’t do that. I shouldn’t, and I’m hopeful. I don’t know what Tegan meant when she said that this woman didn’t want her either; I didn’t have time to ask. I’m hopeful though, I want Tegan to be happy, and I wish she understood as much as I do that being with me just cannot and will not ever bring her true happiness. She needs someone to give her a normal relationship, a normal life, a family. I just won’t ever be able to do such a thing. As much as my heart will forever be broken, I want Tegan to be happy. 

“Okay, that sounds great. I’ll pick you up then. We’re about to start recording so I’ll message you later unless you’re asleep. Bye, LB.” 

LB. Interesting. 

She ends the call, pocketing her cell and glancing at me, expecting me to be hurt. Instead I smile encouragingly at her. 

“Was that Lindsey?” Emy asks from the ground where she’s laying on her tummy, securing the trees to the floor. Tegan takes a swig of her beer and nods. Wait, Emy knows this girl?

“Yeah, she’s flying in Friday.” 

“Dammit.” Emy’s biting the skin on her lip, checking one last time to make sure that the set is held up well. “I hate that I’m going to miss her. I’m flying back to Montreal on Wednesday. Dallas needs their album artwork done two weeks early and I haven’t even started on it. How is she though, Teegs? Still playing hard to get?”

Tegan’s eyebrows lift up as she groans, getting into the chair with her name marked on it. “You know it, they always do.”

Her eyes flicker to me for a split second and I nearly choke on the beer Emy handed me, crossing my legs as I sit next to Tegan. Emy gives me a strange look.

“There’s no way she’s straight. I’m sorry, but there’s just no way. I would have thought she was at least bisexual.”

“Ugh, I don’t know. She’s so confusing. I think she’s even confused with herself. Like, we message each other throughout the entire day and even talk to each other at night. And when I was in LA for the summer, she let me stay on her couch so I didn’t have to buy a hotel room. It’s eating me up inside.” Her fingers run through the fringe on her forehead. 

“Just keep trying, Tee.” Angela smiles, “I’m sure she’s just making sure that she’s ready to be with a woman. Are you guys ready?” 

Tegan nods her head and I study her face, noticing her left eye drooping from the stress of us and the stress of this entire recording process. I give her a reassuring smile when she looks at me before Angela counts down to three.

Emotionless.

***

I watch my feet as we walk from the bar back towards the house, finding it hard to put one foot in front of another. Ted, our guitarist, wraps his hand protectively around my shoulders, knowing how drunk I am and ready to catch me when I stumble, knowing that it’ll happen eventually. I decided to go out and drink tonight and invite the boys with me, not wanting to deal with the fact that Emy left two days ago and Tegan’s probably back from the airport with Lindsey. I hope they’re asleep—I’d rather not meet Lindsey after the copious amounts of gin and tonic I’ve had tonight. 

I burp loudly at the thought, making the boys laugh and Ted pat me on the back. 

“Jesus, Sara. Who would’ve thought that you could drink like that?” Chris says loudly, lighting a cigarette. I take it out of his mouth and put it into mine, laughing loudly at the comment. He lights another one, accepting the fact that his is gone forever. I stumble, feeling Ted’s arms tighten around my shoulders. I appreciate the boys for walking me home.

My mind goes back to Tegan, and I’m used to it. It’s a war in my head. I want Tegan to be happy with someone else, but the fact of the matter is—I don’t want to fucking see it. I don’t want to see her with someone else. It hurts something so deep inside of me, burning the hole in my chest until it’s unrecognizable in size. I think I could probably live the rest of my life knowing that she was happy with someone, while never seeing her with the one who is making her happy. I don’t know, I’m too drunk to analyze this and I haven’t even met Lindsey yet. Maybe I’ll like the woman. 

I feel the nausea in my stomach that only alcohol can cause—fuck, have I really drank that much? I can’t even remember how many shots and drinks I ordered. Who paid for my tab? 

I put out my cigarette as Ted gets me up the steps of the front porch and Chris opens the door for me. I feel the sweat on top of my forehead from the anxiety and nausea. I hear rock music coming from the TV before I cross the threshold into the living room, seeing Tegan and the strange woman staring at the TV with toy guitars hanging from their necks and beers at their feet. They’re playing Rock Band on Tegan’s Wii that she brought from home. Lindsey turns my way with a brightening smile, not shy in the slightest. I flick my eyes at Tegan, who’s longingly looking at Lindsey and me, drunken excitement in her eyes at the thought of her two main women finally meeting each other. 

I look back at Lindsey, she’s beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful, with light brown hair similar to ours and a perfect smile that could easily put you on your ass. 

At the thought of this beautiful woman touching my sister, I feel my throat constrict and I book it out of the door to the porch railing, retching up the burning contents of my stomach as tears well at the feeling of throwing up. God, I fucking hate throwing up. 

“Sara!” I hear Tegan scream, but I’m too drunk to lift my head or respond when her hand comes into contact with my back, rubbing up and down. I see the black spots in my vision from the dehydration, signaling to my brain that I’m about to pass out. 

Tegan has me in her arms before my body goes limp, I’m somewhere halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness, feeling her hook one arm under my knees and lift me up bridal style. I really shouldn’t have had so many drinks. 

“Chris, can you open the door to her bedroom? Who let her drink so much? Did she eat before you guys went out?” 

“I feel like I’m going to throw up again.” I whimper at the nausea and push my head against Tegan’s hoodie.

Ted falters to explain as I’m placed down on the bed, feeling Tegan’s hand move my hair off of my sweaty forehead, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. I don’t open my eyes, choosing to keep them shut against the pillow and speak up to save Ted and Chris from Tegan’s worried questions, knowing she’s going to blame them for my irresponsibility. 

“I’m twenty-seven. . .I don’t need anyone to monitor my drinking, Tee.” I grumble. I can feel her roll her eyes. 

“Yeah, because that’s obviously gotten you far.” She spits, clearly aggravated. I’m suddenly remembering why I drank so much, wanting to separate myself and my consciousness from her and the fact that I’m losing her. The fact that I’ve lost her. I open my eyes and take in her face, leaning against her arm next to me on the bed. She studies my face also. 

“Tegan, you can get the fuck out if you’re going to be rude.” I close my eyes again as a new wave of nausea makes the room spin. I feel so sick from so many different things, hating myself for wishing she wouldn’t leave this bed, wishing she could slide in beside me and take care of me the way she did when we were younger. 

“Can you guys give us a moment? I’ll be right out in a sec, LB.” She nods reassuringly. I move my eyes to the bedroom doorway where Lindsey stands, looking worried and shocked at the way we’re speaking to each other. 

Instantly, I am lit from head to toe with embarrassment. What a great way to introduce yourself—you’re quite the dreamboat. 

The shame causes the bile to rise again, and Tegan notices the look in my eyes and my breathing change, shooting up to grab the bedside trash can and put it under my chin as I vomit up more burning alcohol. Her hands smooth back my hair as I empty the contents of my stomach. 

“Okay, yep, that’s our cue to leave. Goodnight girls, it was nice to meet you, Lindsey.” I hear Ted speak. I feel second-hand embarrassment from the way Tegan spoke to the guys, reminding myself to apologize to them tomorrow for her behavior because I know she won’t. She’ll never apologize for being protective of me. 

“I’ll walk you guys out,” I hear Lindsey’s small voice speak up, a smile in her voice as she closes the door behind them, leaving Tegan and I alone. 

I can feel myself sobering up, but I’m not completely there yet. I groan and look into Tegan’s eyes as the door shuts, wishing I could explain myself but I lack the ability to know what I’m feeling at the moment, so I know I can’t say it. I feel her hand take mine into its grasp, thumb running softly over my own clammy hand. 

“You need to be more careful, Sare.” She whispers. As if a switch goes off again at her words, I am pissed and want nothing more to do with her. Disgusted by the fact that her girlfriend is here. Disgusted by the fact that she seems happy without me, as if she can’t feel the magnet, as if loving me is a dim feeling. Is this what it’s like for her to see me with Emy? Does loving me get a little less easy every time I break her heart? 

The internal war wages on forever, never giving up. It feels like the endless energizer bunny, like a bipolar internal switch that makes me simultaneously want her and want nothing to do with her, all at once. Why, though? I ask myself as I study her, tears leaking out from my eyes and onto the pillow. Why can’t we just be normal sisters? Why do I feel like my need for her is so sick? 

“I know,” she whispers, looking at me like she knows how it feels. 

And we’ll always be like this, I truly don’t think the push and pull will ever go away. God knows I could never stop loving her, I’ve tried. 

“I love you,” I whisper back, flinching at the way it sounds so foreign on my tongue. Flinching at the fact that saying it is what I imagine a heroin addict feels as he shoots up for the first time in a while, body numb and mouth watering. 

I watch her visibly shudder, absorbing the words I rarely say as if she’ll never hear them again. I feel myself drifting off to sleep in her presence, too drunk to take my clothes off and too drunk to care about getting under the covers or asking Tegan to stay. The last thing I feel as sleep pulls me under is her lips, soft and subtle, kissing my forehead above my eyebrow. 

“I know,” she repeats again, before I feel her weight lift off of the bed, leaving the warm spot to cool in her absence.

 

Tegan

I walk in the sushi restaurant next to Sara, behind Lindsey and Angela. We’ve just finished another day of recording and it took a fight to get Angela to put the camera down to enjoy dinner with us without having her lens in our face the entire time. Lindsey also requested that she not be on film, not wanting to be subject to the scrutiny of our overzealous fans once the movie was put out into the world—I respect that. Especially since we aren’t even official yet.

Official, Tegan? God, you’re nearly twenty-eight years old, stop talking like a teen. 

As if it really matters in the end, anyways. As if I even have a heart to give away to anyone, girlfriend or not. It’s not mine to have or to own. Sara has those rights and she always has, always will too. 

I pull out a chair for me and sit across from Sara with Lindsey next to me on my right. They’ve seemed to be getting along well, although I know Sara’s still embarrassed from the other night. I kind of appreciate the strong reaction she gave to seeing me with someone else. She deserves to feel what I feel when Emy is around. Sara keeps apologizing to Lindsey every time the boys scrutinize and joke at her expense and while I enjoy watching her face tint red from the embarrassment, Lindsey is patient and reassuring every time it’s brought up. 

“I’ve been there so many times, Sara. At least once a month, don’t feel bad at all.” She doesn’t think anything of it apart from feeling bad that Sara got so wasted and sick. Although seeing us argue did seemed to bother her, I guess she’ll have to get used to that if she continues to come around. 

“Man, you guys need a day off.” Lindsey looks at the three of us and the dark circles under our eyes. She wonders, “Do you guys ever take a day off?” 

Sara laughs, dryly. “We’ll get about four months off after recording. It takes time for the album to be sequenced and mastered, and then released through the label. After that break, we’ll be on tour.” 

Lindsey looks at me longingly. “How long will you be on tour?” 

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders, telling the waitress to bring me whatever they have on draft and a California roll. “We never really know. Typically, we tour America and Canada first and then fly over to tour Europe, but Piers was talking about doing Australia and New Zealand also. We’ll probably be touring the last half of 2008 and most of 2009. The money mostly comes from us touring, so Nick and Piers really push us on that.” 

I see Sara nodding with me as she orders her fourth coffee of the day without putting in an order for something to actually eat. This pisses me off, her whole not eating when she’s depressed bullshit.

“I don’t see how you do that. I would be so fucking exhausted-” 

“Hey Sara, food. Order some.” I demand, interrupting Lindsey, lifting my eyebrow to tell her I’m pissed. I see her jaw clench with shame. She despises when I call her out. Her eyes shoot daggers my way, letting me know I’ll hear about this later.

“I’ll also have the edamame. Thanks.” She lifts the menu to the waitress. “No, real food. You need real food.”

“Come on, Tegan.” 

“No, I’m serious! You look sick.” I bite back, not wanting to argue with her, but worried at the same time. I see her flinch at my insult to her appearance. She smiles at the waitress and hands him the menu. I give up, realizing I’ve hurt her feelings and embarrassed her. 

“Anyways, Lindsey,” Sara speaks up, giving a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she ignores me, “what do you do for a living?” 

Lindsey sets her water down and reaches for my hand under the table. “I’m a freelance photographer. I mostly photograph bands and do a lot of work for NPR, Thrasher, Spin, Pitchfork and Alternative Press. That’s how I met Emy actually, I was taking pictures of City and Colour a few years back and they had hired her to do some art directing.”

Sara nods, contemplating. I wonder if she’s upset at Emy for introducing me to Lindsey, although she’d never be able to tell Emy she was upset without having to explain why. 

“That’s awesome! I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to get started.”

Lindsey is exhaling loudly and looking at Sara as if to say, ‘yeah it sucked’. Sara nods again and adds, “It’s really neat that you know Dallas, he’s one of Tegan and I’s closest friends.”

“So I’ve been told.” She turns and smiles at me sweetly. I think our relationship is getting somewhere. I think she’s realizing that the feelings she holds for me might not be as elementary as she first thought. The past two days she’s been here have been great and she’s the first person in a long time to be able to give me butterflies. I run my thumb and forefinger over the veins in her hand and the tattoo on her wrist, sad that she has to go back to L.A. tomorrow night. Sad that touching her makes me feel like I’m cheating on Sara, although I could probably count on my two hands how many times Sara and I have touched each other. It’s pathetic, really. It’s been four days since we kissed in the kitchen, and the kiss before that was over a year and a half ago, before Sara left for Montreal. 

I bite back the knot in my throat that forms from the reopening of that wound, choosing for once to ignore all thoughts of Sara and focus on Lindsey for the rest of the night. 

 

Sara

I toss and turn in the bed, feeling bloated and unable to sleep from the two beers and edamame I had at dinner. The clock next to me reads 2:43 a.m. I groan and shove my head into the rough pillow case, wishing I would’ve brought my own bedding with me. I miss my bed in Montreal, and my girlfriend, and my fancy coffee pot that I bought before recording that I haven’t had the chance to use yet. 

I hear the sound before my brain registers what it is—a moan coming from Tegan’s room behind the paper thin walls. A loud ‘fuck’ follows and the sound of her bed creaking. 

Oh shit, oh no. 

I have not prepared myself for this, having thought the understanding of them being friends and of Lindsey being straight despite Tegan’s attempts of wooing her. Why couldn’t I just go to sleep? My lip quivers, not knowing what to do. The moans grow louder and I’m sick. I don’t register the moans as Tegan’s, but as Lindsey’s. How can she be so disrespectful? I’ve never had sex around her, not even remotely. I wouldn’t even think about fucking in the room next to her. 

It takes minutes before I feel the hot tears hit the pillow, too numb to not feel them run down my face. I’m paralyzed in this sick sadness, paralyzed at the sound of her pleasing someone else in a way that she’s never done with me before. I know that it’s selfish, she has to think about me sleeping with Emy, but she’s never had to hear it. 

It’s dangerous—the game my head plays with itself. How can I want her to be happy and at the same time collapse at the fact that she will inevitably sleep with someone else? Maybe it’s because I’ve never, not once, had to deal with this being pushed in my face. 

The headboard hits the wall and I hear it for the first time, Tegan’s voice as she moans. My back arches off the bed in heat from the sound of her low growls. Just like a nuclear fusion or a drug overdose, sending me into a full blown panic attack, my mind scolding me for the reaction to her. You’re sick! You’re fucked in the head, getting wet at the thought of your sister like a sick fuck!

I sob into my pillow, every muscle in my shoulders and back groans from being so strained. The cycle of the panic attack begins: gasping for air, overheating, gasping for air, overheating, gasping, straining, crying, straining, gasping, crying, straining. My fists are clenched so tight that my nails draw blood from my palms. 

The moans escalate from both voices, bed creaking viciously, as they finally come to their conclusion. I know somehow this is my all fault. I know I am to blame for setting the wound in my chest on fire—not needing their help to burn or drown or freeze in this hell that’s been created around me against my will power. I wonder what I did in my past life that got me to this point. 

It takes hours, but eventually I fall asleep, watching the sun peek through the blinds. For most of the night, I was unable to get any rest due to the sobs wracking my body, smothered by my wet pillow. When sleep finally does come, I am overcome with anger. 

No. 

Rage is a better word. 

 

Tegan 

Lindsey holds my hand on the cab ride to the airport, giving me quick kisses whenever she sees fit to do so. We’ve been exploring Portland all morning since I got a text from Chris around 6:00 a.m. saying that Sara has given everyone a day off today. Which comes as a surprise to me, she must have made plans for today. Lindsey and I got up at ten and were out of the door by eleven, walking in the direction of downtown to find a nice place to get breakfast. We’ve spent the entire day together, getting snacks from food trucks and going to museums and galleries, where I spent most of my time staring at her instead of the sights in front of me and she took way too many photos of me with her small Canon point-and-shoot. 

Last night we slept with each other, and it was honestly great. Much better sex than I expected from someone who’s only been with one other girl and that was over 10 years ago. I have this nagging thought in the back of my head that we were too loud and that Sara might have heard us, which means that I’ll have quite a lot to deal with when I get home. Not that I give two shits, she deserves it. If I have to deal with her and Emy kissing and giving bedroom eyes to each other in front of me, why should I have to keep my relationship with Lindsey quiet on her behalf? She has no right to be angry with me no matter how much of our relationship is exposed to her. I’m tired of hurting because of her, I’m sick of feeling like she doesn’t want me and knowing that she does. I’m tired of the war. I am giving in.

After all, Sara says that she wants me to be happy, so I’m doing just that. 

I look at Lindsey again, trying to analyze our relationship as she stares out of the window. I don’t know where it’s going but I hope it’s going in the right direction. We have so much fun together, no drama apart from her fading heterosexuality that I’ve been battling since we met last year. I enjoy her company and I think she can say the same about me. I think I need a relationship that’s fun and full of laughter, someone who genuinely cares about me, and I think that if anyone was to take Sara completely out of the question—Lindsey would be the one. She really could be my best friend; she is, for all intents and purposes.

Sadness dawns, reminding me that it’s impossible for Sara to ever be out of any equation involving me, even if she doesn’t want to be in it. Sometimes I feel like she isn’t even my sister, isn’t even mine to claim. But she is me—so how can she not by default be mine as well? 

Sometimes I wish I would have been born the distant one of the two of us, and not her. I don’t think she will ever be able to understand the full encompassing need I have to be next to her, near her, consuming her. She’s been pulling away from me for so long, against the grain, tugging backwards on the rope that runs into me and my soul and after spending my entire life using all of my strength and energy trying to keep her from pulling, trying to keep the rope from snapping, I’m erring close to giving up. One day I’ll be exhausted of fighting the rope, the tug. One day I’ll let go and watch her rip me inside out. 

“Tee? What’s on your mind?” I come back into focus and Lindsey’s looking at me in concern. I bite my lip and transfer my weight as the cab driver takes a right turn onto the airport highway. 

“Just wishing you didn’t have to go so soon.” I half lie through my teeth, giving her a sad crooked smile. 

“Me too.” She twirls the ring that’s on my right hand between her fingers, longingly. “You should spend your few months before tour with me in LA.” 

The invitation comes as a shock, though I was hoping she would eventually ask. I smile and nod nervously, elated that I don’t have to make up an excuse to be in L.A. and get a hotel I can’t afford for the duration of my stay. 

“I’d love to.” My cheeks pull up into a gummy smile, growing even bigger when she kisses the corner of my lips. 

“Alright ladies,” the cab driver speaks up, “Southwest gate is coming up on your right. It’ll be $13.22 for your trip.” He points a greasy finger at the monitor that’s mounted on the dashboard. Lindsey gives him a twenty dollar bill before I can pry my wallet out of my jean coat pocket and I shoot her a playful glare as we unbuckle our seatbelts to exit the taxi.

We shuffle quickly through the airport, me pulling her checked bag behind me with her carry-on slung around my shoulders, grasping her hand in mine, being the gentlewoman that I am. 

We stop a couple of feet before the check-in desks and I wonder if she feels as nervous as I do about the future, as sad as I do about her leaving. 

“Are you Tegan Quin?” I hear from behind me. With a deep breath, I let go of the frustration of being interrupted and wasting the last bit of time I get to spend with Lindsey, to turn around and face a woman who’s also carrying bags for a flight. She has the usual face of a shocked and happy fan. 

“I think that’s the name my Mum gave me, mhm.” I smile with my teeth, being charming in the manner that Sara says embarrasses her. Lindsey smiles and steps to the counter to get her boarding pass, pulling the luggage out of my right hand to get checked in. “What’s your name?” 

“Paige! I can’t believe this, I love the White Stripes cover you and Sara did. I don’t mean to bother, but would you mind signing my arm for me?” She bites her lip, anticipating. I swallow down the urge to tell her to go fuck herself for thinking Walking with a Ghost was a White Stripes cover.

“Of course, no problem.” I give a fake smile again, watching her pull out a red sharpie from a book bag and handing it to me with the exposed skin of her arm. I sign ‘TQuin, xo’ on her wrist and wave, turning around without a goodbye to give my attention to Lindsey where she stands, smiling at the interaction.

“It takes some getting used to,” I whisper, tilting her chin up for a kiss. 

“I think it’s adorable,” She whispers into my mouth, kissing me again. In no way is her kiss comparable to Sara’s, and I love that even more, I love the way Lindsey’s mouth tastes. Cinnamon and cigarettes as opposed to Sara’s honeysuckle. 

She kisses me again and again and again. Not wanting to say goodbye, truth be told, I don’t either. I wish I could go with her to the heat of Los Angeles.

The difference in their kisses are easy to distinguish. Lindsey kisses me like school girl, soft and sweet. Like we’re sixteen and on our first date at the movies, lips pressing and moving together and every time it’s enjoyable, every time it’s like a first kiss. Maybe a third kiss, still in the process of learning each other and bouncing off the highs of new territory.

Sara kisses me like I’m on my deathbed. It’s heady, open-mouthed and palpable. She kisses me like a gun is pressed to her temple. She kisses me like she’ll combust and who fucking knows—maybe she will, she just might. I know I will, I most likely would. She is me and she is mine and I am her and I am hers. She kisses me like she’s trying to consume me, trying to exist inside of me, trying to put us back together as we were meant to be before we split. Her mouth is poison, and her mouth is wine, and yes, I might die from it every time. I just might fucking die from it, but at least I’ll be drunk while doing so and that’s enough for me, enough for her. 

The thoughts in my head are raging again and I feel the familiar feeling ripping through my gut of missing the part of my soul that’s not here as I give Lindsey one last kiss before she turns and walks towards the part of the terminal I know to be security. 

With one last glance in her direction, I head towards the airport exit and call another cab as the rain begins to fall from the overcast sky that reflects my mood. 

 

Sara

I hear the keys in the front door jingle from the kitchen, assuming that it’s Tegan back from the airport. I rest against the counter with two hands gripping the ledge. Tears flowing down my face like they’ve done since I woke up around 1:00 p.m. I tried to make myself eat something, but the sandwich sits discarded to my left with only three bites taken out of it. I was unable to force myself to eat more. My emotions are scattered all over the place, casting a heavy tension on this house. I can’t decide if I’m more enraged or more devastated, the feelings being so mixed up now that they feel the same in my stomach. I think the inability to separate the two is what keeps the tears flowing. Hearing Tegan call my name from the door as she shuts and locks it draws a sob from my chest. I’ve been fighting this battle long enough, I can’t do it anymore. I don’t think I can physically do it anymore. 

“Oh my God, Sara! You wouldn't believe what this woman at the airport told me. . . she said she loves Walking with a Ghost and that she was so happy that we covered the White Stripes. I nearly refused to give her an autograph.” She giggles, setting something down on the floor after throwing her keys on the table near the couch. 

When she hears me crying, she falls silent and heavy footsteps begin drawing closer to the kitchen. I hear her round the corner and walk towards me, but before she can reach for me, before she lays hands on me, my left hand is rearing back and flying towards her face, connecting to her high cheekbone in an awful smacking sound. She stands there, dumbfounded, left hand holding her cheek in her hand as I continue to fall apart. 

“You hit me.” She says it as more of a statement than a question. 

“You broke my fucking heart.” I bite back, willing the tears away so I can stand my ground. “How could you. . .how could you be so cruel to me?” I stutter, feeling the room begin to close in. 

“You don’t know shit about cruel!” Her loud voice echoes. Tears well up in her eyes at my outburst. We don't hit each other often, and I think of how funny it is that if anyone else on the face of this planet was to lay hands on her, I'd probably fucking kill them.

“I could never, would never, dream about fucking another person in the room next to you if I had the slightest thought that you could hear it.” 

“And you think that watching you with Emy, kissing her, letting her touch you, letting her be with you, simply knowing she sleeps next to you is any better?”

“Fuck you, Tegan you know that’s completely different, I-”

“No, fuck you, Sara! I’m over this sick bullshit you play with me!” She screams. “You leave me. You leave me after you tell me you share whatever this is between us. . . and. . .and you just sit there on your fucking high horse while I’m killing myself. You tell me you want me to be happy. . .be happy with someone else. . .and you, you punish me for it! How was I supposed to know you could hear me, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have known because I have enough respect for you to not test the goddamn walls and break you into a million pieces while I do it!” I scream back, watching her face twist as if I slapped her again.

Suddenly she’s in my face with her finger pressing into my breastplate. “You don’t have to fuck someone to break my heart you cold-hearted bitch. You do it so easily already.”

“Cold-hearted? You want to know what cold-hearted is, Tegan? Cold-hearted is having to sit there and listen to you get another woman off. Have you no regard to the way it made me feel? Cold-hearted is the way you don’t make it easy to just be your goddamn sister! Like it would be easy for us to just ride off into the sunset. Like our entire lives and careers wouldn’t be over if anyone ever found out.” 

I’m yelling now, watching as she clenches her jaw at the insult. I can feel the anger in my shoulders. I need to leave before one of us hits the other again. I shove past her into the living room, not knowing what I want to do or where I would even go if I could leave. 

"Where are you going?" She yells, throwing her hands out in exasperation. 

"Away from you! Away from this. . .this fucked up fucking cesspool of anxiety that attaches itself to me whenever you're near me!" My eyes dart around the living room for my house keys, my cell phone, my wallet. Anything that I think I might need before leaving. 

"You can't just fucking leave me! What the fuck is wrong with you? I need you!" She's wailing again.

"This is so fucked, Tegan." I rub my temples, the tears welling up again. "Why can't you just be okay with being my sister? Can't you see that this will never work? It will never work." 

“You can’t just hit me for sleeping with someone and then tell me it won’t work! What the fuck- what is wrong with you? What the fuck do you want from me?” She yells. 

I'm stuttering, mumbling at her logic, ignoring her. "I have to go, I have to leave because you're breaking me down again and fucking with my head and you can't just come in here and fuck someone and make me feel like I'm crazy, like I'm fucking psychotic because I shouldn't feel the way I do for you. I just want to be your sister, why is that so difficult for you to understand? Why can't you make this easy for me? Why do you make me feel like I'm dying?" I can't handle the look she has in her eyes with her hand over her mouth to hold back her cries. 

“You can’t be like that. You can’t expect me to never be with someone after reminding me. . .after you. . .you remind me how much you don’t want to love me.”

“I need to leave. . .I have to leave.” 

“No!” She wails, pissed. “No you will not go anywhere after you started this, if you walk out of that goddamn door I swear to God, Sara- if you walk out of that door I will-”

“You’ll what?” I challenge, cheeks ablaze with red fury, and I feel the hot tears seep out from beneath my eyelids. I feel as if I might have a panic attack, or maybe throw up. Unable to talk about this with her, overwhelmed at what’s happening and I wish I was strong. I wish I was strong like her. I wish I would have never opened my mouth. Never cried. Never allowed myself to ever feel the way I do about her.

It's such a foreign act for us to actually talk about what's happening between us. The last argument we had over our fucked up circumstance ended in me packing my bags and leaving her, and I feel like doing that again. Running away from the problems because I am not wired the same way she’s wired. I'm not strong enough to stand and fight and talk it out. I'm not as strong and as confrontational as she is. I'm weak, especially when it comes to her and the pull and the magnets. She's never opened me up this much though, I think to myself, and if I stay here arguing with her—I worry that the floodgates will drown us where we stand.

My head shakes at her silence, knowing that she’s defenseless and completely unable to do anything. She won’t hit me, although I do wish she would. 

“I can’t do this, Tegan. You’re, I’m- I’m going fucking crazy!” 

"Then fucking go!" She’s sobbing. "Go if you want to! I cannot physically stop you, and if you wanted to just be my fucking sister, you wouldn’t be crying about having to listen to that last night. There’s a difference between us, Sare-” She seethes, sarcastically, like she’s about to make a point. “You see, I’ve had to spend the last five years getting used to the fact that I feel like I am going to die without you, I’ve had to get used to that. And you? You spend your entire life in misery, in absolute fucking misery- running from me and from us instead of just fucking accepting that no one-” the distance between us lessens as she gets in my face, “no one, Sara, has you the way that I do.” 

I don’t pay much attention to the fact that she’s right, instead my brain chooses to get angrier. I am livid that she’s not wrong, livid that she can say things like that without her guts being twisted in sick guilt. 

“Don’t you want a family one day?” I yell, “Don’t you want to not have to hide from the world every waking minute of every day-”

“You’re not giving me this spiel again, Sara. We both know what this is, your easy way out. Like I said, if you want to go then just fucking leave, I'm used to it by n-”

“Don’t you want to be able to love someone effortlessly, Teg-”

“You, Sara! You!” She screams, her voice trembling as she cries out to me. Her words are deafening, her wails louder than the time I called the police on her in 2002 after one of our other knockdown, drag out fights. The statement silences me, knocks anything I could’ve thought about saying out of my mouth. What could I possibly say back? No, you don’t love me like that, you don’t love me effortlessly. Because she does, and she does do it effortlessly, in a way that I’m not sure I ever will be able to do, but she knows that. 

And the fucked up thing, the fucked up thing is I can’t deny her the right to say it, I can’t deny her the right to love me, because it’s all she’s ever done. I’m well aware of that fact, and the truth of what loving me effortlessly, no matter how much I try to push her away, means for her and for us both. She’ll always love me—effortlessly—and unfortunately, I don’t share that reality with her. Do I love her? That’s indescribable, an obvious yes but also indescribable because it’s not enough, that word is not encompassing enough, there’s not a language capable of being spoken that could describe what I feel for her—forever. It’s something akin to need but that doesn’t do it for me either. Unfortunately, again, it will never be carried without weight or effortlessly. 

Loving- needing, the insatiable desire to bring us closer, it will always fill me and destroy me simultaneously. 

She’s sobbing, out of breath with her hands on her knees, looking up to me. “You. . .you fucking fool. I am nothing without you. Nothing, Sara. And fuck you for thinking that you can be so manipulative, so manipulative to sit here in front of me and lie through your teeth like you don't need me too, like you can actually make me believe that you don't need me.”

We stand in silence for a moment, her body bent over, staring at my erect posture. 

“You don't get to decide that, Tee. You just don't. I do need you, but I can't ever do anything about that. I don’t see us ever being able to fix this, or consummate it, what I feel for- what we feel for each other.” 

“Why? Why can't you do something about it? It could be so easy.”

My brain reels, trying to piece together which reason to give first to show her—No, Tegan. It can not be so easy. 

“Because then all of this will be real and I'll have to deal with all of this, with you, and I can't do that because what will we do? What could we possibly do after acting on how we feel? What, are we just going to hide it for the rest of our lives? Never be with anyone else? That's so miserable and lonely. I want a family one day, I want things that you will never be able to give me, Tee. And you have to want things I will never ever be able to give you either.”

She shakes her head and I watch her throat constrict as she swallows what I'm saying like a horse pill, eyes flicking from side to side while she tries to calculate ways to disprove me and my logic. My fingers twitch, blood boiling from a slipping resolve that I’ve spent years trying to maintain within my grasp, and she wonders why I don’t talk about it. Because she gets under my fucking skin and my soul is not capable of hearing such arguments when I know that they stand so strong against my own. 

“Yeah, you're right. But it doesn't mean that you have to ignore it completely because you push me away when you do that and I'm so sick of you pushing me away. It's breaking my heart. You push me away, you retract anytime I barely touch or hug you, even when I get near you, and then you do this when I get tired of it and sleep with someone when that's what you wanted for me in the first place. Can't you see that it's hypocritical? I'm tired of feeling like you hate me. . .every second I spend away from you when I know, Sare, I know that you need me all the same- it is killing me. It is killing me to not touch you, to- to not be allowed to love you like this, I feel like I’m choking.”

Her words resonate with me, not that I didn't already know I was being selfish, but I didn't give a shit that I was. She's crying again, pulling her shirt up to catch the tears before they drop. I have the overwhelming urge to hold her at the sight of her crying, but I push that down, pushing the guilt down with it. The pull fights against me, pulling and pulling my soul, pulling me towards her. I fight that, I scratch at the rope that’s pulling and winding against my own will because I know that once it wins- there’s no going back. Once it snaps, I’ll succumb to her in a way that I’ve never allowed myself the right to do. 

My hands shake at the resolve, and it’s like I’m watching it walk out of the front door. Blood is boiling in fear beneath the veins that run through my body. Why won’t my fucking hands stop shaking?

And this is what I wanted to avoid, all though I knew that one day the volcano would erupt and I would no longer be able to avoid this conversation, I didn’t want it to be so soon if it ever even happened at all. What hurts the most is there's no escape to any of this, there's no end, there never will be.

“I don't hate you, Tee. I could never hate you.” I bite the skin of my lip that’s quivering, trying to keep the words beneath my teeth to no avail, so I fail, “You have no idea just how much I love you.” It's a whisper, because I don't think I'll ever be able to tell her I love her unless I'm whispering.

“You have quite the way of showing it.” She's sobbing, continuous, broken down again because of me. I have no choice but to fix it at this point, knowing that she won't allow me to leave or go to bed until I do, or maybe that's my own conscience that won't allow me, because when I think about it- she's never forced me to stay every time I've left. And like I knew it would, the resolve breaks and the volcano has erupted and I snap- telling the guilt in my head and gut to shut the fuck up for just two seconds while I right my wrongs and fix her. The living room is too quiet when I step closer to her and grasp her hands, so warm against my own cold pair, and move them from her face, the collar of her t-shirt falling in the process. 

And it's the first time I've been able to get a good look at her, this close to her, since we were nineteen and I picked her up off of the floor after standing there while she had a panic attack, unable to move or do anything. That same night I again told the guilt to fuck off so I could hold her in her bed and calm her down because I know she needed it, and although I realize I'm often cruel to her, I'm not that cruel to leave her heaving and gasping on the floor the way I was last night- but I shove those angry feelings down also. I look at her now and I can see her age showing like it never does, I see the bloodshot eyes and the few out of place wrinkles, the blue circles under her eyes and I wonder where those circles came from. Me? The recording process? The lack of sleep and too much alcohol? Probably all of it combined. There's a light shade of purple on her left cheek bone where my ring connected with her face and it's a different kind of guilt that twists my guts this time, I shove that down too because I think she's already forgiven me and I'm sure the emotional bruises and trauma I've caused her are probably a lot worse than the small physical bruise I can see that I've caused. 

So I stand there, and I'm as quiet as the room, not even breathing when I touch my thumb to her bottom lip, fingers shaking violently because I’m touching her in a way I shouldn’t be and grazing the line of her strong jaw, stronger than my own because she's stronger than me I think. And I trace her lip some more and her eyes close and I decide that I think I can be done fighting her in those twenty seconds we stand there. I’m giving up and I'm giving in because the taste in my mouth is pure honey and I feel my mouth water, muscles fighting too long to control the pull between us and I’m so tired of fighting something I don’t think I can ever win. I feel so guilty for touching her like this, and it's not even because I'm cheating on Emy- no, I can't think about that right now or I'll stop and if I stop I think I'll probably die. I'll suffocate and so will she, she'll die too, and she'll probably never talk to me again and the thought of that alone is enough to make tears well in my eyes again. So it’s not because I’m cheating, but because I’m afraid of what’s to come- terrified, utterly terrified of not knowing how long the resolve will stay down or if it will never return. It’s because the thought of being with her is aching me all over, aching me in places that makes me feel so wrong and yet the ache persists.   
And it's as if she can see the battle between me and me trying to bite down the pangs of guilt coming up my throat like vomit. 

"Kiss me. Don't think about it. Stop fighting it. You don't have to fight it. I'm here and I'm yours, we're okay. Just kiss me, Sara." Her lip shakes, dipping in and closing, encouraging and I feel a hike in the intake of breath through my mouth and it’s dizzying when that soft skin touches mine, beckoning. 

And so I, hesitantly, lean up to connect our lips and I listen to her when she tells me that we're okay. And we stay like that for awhile, frozen because this is the first time we've done this when we weren't trying to prove something to the other and most importantly, more importantly, it's the first time I've been the one to close the distance between us. I feel the warmth hit my chest again and so I open my mouth again just to connect our lips together once more, repeating to myself all the things she told me before I kissed her in order to prevent me from pulling away. My hand moves from her jawline to the back of her head where her baby hairs are and I twist my fingers around those, pulling them the way I know that she loves and she moans into my mouth, and that right there, that sound causes my eyebrows to come together in pain because it is so excruciatingly painful to hear, to hear what I'm doing to her. So I tug them again to hear the sound and her hands are shaking, I think, when she grips onto the cloth on my waist, bringing the low groan from my mouth when our waists meet. I die and my soul turns to the dust it was made from when I feel her tongue on my lips asking for entrance that I willingly give her. It's spearmint that my taste buds pick up on when her tongue meets mine, from the gum she's probably been chewing on, and it only makes my hands pull at the nape of her neck even more. She’s kissing me differently than last time though, softly. This is soft, and I don’t think I can remember a time in our entire twenty-eight years that I’ve received a kiss from her that is so tender. Like I could break in two, like she could shatter if she were to stop. And maybe she will, you know. Maybe we’ll combust into nothing if we don’t keep each other afloat, here in this moment, afloat and above water. 

She’s kissing me, she’s me and she’s mine and I’m her and I’m hers, and I feel her fingers at my jaw, tracing around the skin there, making me realize that this is finally it. It’s finally here. She’s finally here and we’re doing this for the first time. Are we going to do this for the first time? Here? Together? It’s the unthinkable and I know this, but she’s so close, and the proximity allows me to smell her hair, her skin. I smell her skin, and it pushes away the doubt, any doubt I had in my mind. I give her entrance to my mouth again and trail lines up her back at the pressure of her hip bones against mine, watching her figure light up in blue as lightning cracks the sky shining through my window. I feel it all get too much for her as my nails reach the base of her spine above her sweatshirt and she has to break for a second, catching her breath. And when she tears up, I kiss her again. Swirling my tongue around the inside of her mouth, making myself familiar and at home between her teeth and so I trace those too. Our eyes are closed and we stay like that, consuming ourselves in each other, making up for all of the lost years where we couldn’t immerse ourselves. 

I bite at her bottom lip, fuller than mine and pierced, knowing that she needs it. Knowing that she needs to feel me and take me and become me and consume me and I allow it, I’ll probably allow it forever. 

Again the thoughts rush into me if this is something we are ready for—but could anyone ever truly prepare themselves for this? What if something happens and we really do become one? 

My god, kissing her is the only thing I can think that heaven would feel like. I slip her bottom lip between my teeth and tug before moving to the top lip to give it the same treatment. I feel my eyes fill with tears at the feeling, finding god and salvation—repentance in her between the clash of our mouths and the taste of her saliva. A part of me wants to scream and fight this world. How could someone ever feel the way my chest feels right now, so full- so goddamn full and ever tell me that it is wrong? How can anyone be in my position, seeing god- herself and condemn me? 

Her fingers curl at the base of my t-shirt, giving me chills there, hesitant to pull it up so I nod into her mouth, into the proximity, to let her know that I'm here with her and I won't run if she rips it in half because I couldn’t. She's heroin and I need more of it to be satiated although I don't think I'll ever have enough. Maybe one day I'll take too much and it'll kill me and for a second I think I'd be okay with that. So she rips the shirt off of me, albeit slowly, achingly, and I close my eyes while she does it because I can't see the way she looks at me. I can't see her face for the same reasons that I can't keep my hands from shaking when my fingers reach up to undo the buttons of her plaid shirt while she kisses me, but I can feel the heat radiating off of the skin I expose with every button that's undone and I swear to God it burns my fingers but it's enough to keep me working, working on removing this goddamn shirt I'll never be able to look at the same again. I pause and blink my eyelids open to her, wanting to soak it in because I don’t know when I’ll ever get the chance to again. And maybe I shouldn’t have because it pains me, everywhere, to see her shirt so open. Exposing her pale skin and sports bra to me in such a way that my mouth goes dry when I watch the muscles of her flat stomach pulse and flex with every heavy intake and exhale of breath. 

My god.

More tears fall, not because I’m sad, because it’s like looking at pearl gates and green forests. Perfect, in my eyes, flawless. 

Blinding.

Home. 

And something must have been right in the way I looked at her because she's kissing me again, backing me up blindly to a hard surface I assume is my bedroom door and it aches everywhere at how hard I slam into it. Panic rises for a split second so I quit breathing and will myself to not pull away from her and break our collective heart, but when I'm slammed into the door again—from the way her hips curl into me, those thoughts are forgotten and replaced with the sound of us moaning, muffled by each others mouths. Guilt is forgotten because I'm suddenly feeling warm in places that can make you forget things. I hear her shoes come off and I almost move to kick mine off too before I remember I'm just wearing socks, but I do feel her breasts move against mine when she fumbles for her belt with one hand and the door handle with the other.   
I hold my resolve to not rip the rest of our clothing off when she backs me up into the bed, our tongues battling for dominance and her hands gripping onto the skin of my hips like I'll run if she lets go. I turn us so she is sitting, switching our places, and turn my head when I’m in her lap so she can attach her lips to the flesh under my jawline, a place I know she'll use against me later, and I'm thankful she bites and doesn’t suck my skin so I don't have to explain the result of that to anyone. 

I trail a scorching hot line with my right hand from the valley between her breasts across the hills of her stomach, through the barely noticeable happy trail beneath her navel, and onto my own belt buckle. My fingers shake so hard that I almost can't get the goddamn belt off and my pants undone, she notices and exerts minimal effort to one-handedly pin my hands behind my back, sitting straight up in her lap so her other hand can slowly, excruciatingly, pull down my zipper. 

Soon but not soon enough, my jeans and underwear are off as I struggle with hers, I’m with her and gasping for air when the cool skin of her leg meets the heat raging through my inner thigh after I settle into her lap. I open my eyes for the first time since my shirt came off to find her staring at me, searching for something to tell her to continue, and we're already here, and God knows there's no turning back—not like we could even if we wanted to stop. So I nod with watery eyes and when those fingers, those goddamn fingers, find what she has caused—the last bit of my resolve breaks. Causing her head to drop to my chest at the wetness she meets and runs her fingers through effortlessly.

“Fuck.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s there, and her face contorts in pleasure as she says it, eyebrows meeting low on her face as if she was the one being touched. I know my face is equally displaying what I see on her own, like a mirror of mine because it is a mirror of mine. And then she’s pushing inside and we feel that as one, wholly as one, together, shivering and crying out at the same time.

“Oh fuck, Tegan. Fuck.” I moan into her mouth, I’ll never leave this bed. I’ll never, ever, leave this fucking bed. 

It’s sublime when she pushes in again with curling fingers and I need more, rougher, and she gets it, understanding, pushing in harder because I’m her and I’m hers and she’s me and she can probably taste what I need through my tongue that she sucks it into her own mouth. I memorize the shape of her shoulder muscles beneath my fingers as I rock into her own, everything shaking, quivering. The muscles beneath her skin flexes and her mouth on my lower lip bites, tugs gently. I feel her own heat against my leg, drawing my hand down to feel what I'm causing her and I circle her bundle of nerves once. . .twice. . .before moving lower to the warm waters I meet there. And when I circle the deepest parts of her, it sparks another expletive from her mouth before I push inside those deepest parts and she gasps, sucking air from between her teeth so I kiss those teeth too. 

I pull out to the hilt and slam back into her ocean, doubling her over. I do it again, stalling my fingers when they reach the knuckle to curl into what I find there and she doubles over into me. 

Her gaze fixes on me, eyes heavy, eyebrows together and mouth open as if she wants to say something but can’t. Because she can’t. So I refrain from curling to enjoy this longer, resulting in me matching her thrusts at a hard, steady pace.

“I love you,” I moan, speaking my feelings into existence before they crawl their way out of my mouth, causing her to slam into me harder than she was before and tears leak from the corner of her eyes. She doesn’t respond, not needing to, knowing that I feel it all around me, moving through me. 

And the feeling as we peak is what I expect a red dwarf star to feel like as it collapses within itself, creating the supernova or creating the black hole, whichever is chosen for it. I see the galaxies with my eyes wide open staring into her own. It shakes us both and she’s crying suddenly, or maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s both of us and maybe if we had done this years ago we would have became one. Maybe we are one here in this moment. I think that feels more palpable as her teeth bite down into my collarbone to muffle the sounds that sound better than the sounds I heard last night, but I push that thought down because my brain is consumed in her. Absolutely fucking consumed, and I get less than a minute of time to rest and remove my fingers from her depths before I'm on my back with her strong body on top of me. And those fingers are in my hair again and my leg is over her shoulder and she’s pushing deeper to places I wasn’t fully aware existed, causing me to be a little more vocal than I intended on being which fuels her fire more than I knew she even contained. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” She moans, creating the flood inside me to pool, creating a gasp that’s pulled from her lungs. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I’m gonna. . . fuck, Sara.” 

The room lights up in blue light again as my hands become locked above my head in the grasp of that which just finished tugging on my hair and we’re moving fast now, so fast that all I can do is take in short choppy breaths, unable to find the strength within me to break eye contact. We’re rocking and the headboard is hitting the wall as my heel digs into the dimples that I now know exist above her ass, and if I could comprehend a thought right now, I’d be so thankful that we put Angela in a hotel for her stay because there’s no possible fucking way that I can keep quiet at this pace. She’s trying to grasp at my heart to return it where it belongs, inside the same cavity that hers sits. And when I reach a point of no return, all I can do is squeeze her and cry out with my lips pressed against her sweaty neck, inhaling what I’ll know forever to be the smell of home. I ride her hand through the onslaught of tremors I’m met with at every slow curl of fingers she gives to my body. Holding onto her back for dear life against the blood trails I’ve left there as we breathe against one another, spent and drenched in a sheen of sweat.

I know I will have to deal with this in the morning, but right now, right in this very moment—I am awake and I am alive and unforgiving as I roll her over, my body ascending into bliss, giving her what she already owns.


	2. Chapter 2

Tegan 

I open my eyes to the harsh light that's cascading into the window, blinking away the film of sleep to focus on Sara's resting face, sleeping peacefully and a few inches apart from my own. I can feel her bare breast pressing against my arm, though I don't sexualize it. It's the first time I've been able to look at her this close to me, from the birthmark beneath her bottom lip to the scar on her eyebrow. I regard her and wiggle feeling into my toes, groaning at the fact that I fell asleep on the side of the bed that the air conditioner is facing, although I would rather it be me waking up cold than her. I watch as her eyebrows twitch, pulling the corner of my lips up in a smile. My tummy is warm from being so close to her without us being in the process of tearing each other's throats out. I'm not capable of processing last night, mostly because processing it is what I can imagine a marathon winner has to go through after crossing the finish line first—it takes more than a few seconds to try and comprehend. 

Sara's eyes blink open, adjusting to the light and the proximity of how close my face is to her. Within seconds, the room is filled with an unspeakable tension because I haven't had the chance to be afraid of her reaction, and now the weight of anxiety hits me at the way she's going to react to this, to us, to the unthinkable thing we’ve done.

I can't quite process the look that glazes over her eyes. In those hazel orbs lit up beneath the morning sun, I see so many telling emotions, yet in the same blink, they prove nothing at all. She gives me nothing, not even the slightest discourse with her full lips pressed into a tight line. And so I think to myself—please don't do this. Please don’t regret this. Please, don't.

I watch her watch me, studying me and the hesitant, expecting look that I'm sure my face holds. I see something similar to adoration pass over her dilated eyes. Adoration and love, I can only assume, followed by something I'm all too familiar with when I catch her looking at me—guilt. 

And before I can think of the right thing to say, her lips are on mine in a kiss. And before I can allow myself to fall freely into her, the weight of those same lips are gone and she's getting out of bed. 

“No,” I say. I can’t help but to groan, panicked. “Do not leave me in your bed after what we did last night.” And I'm crying because that's what I do when I'm overwhelmed, I cry. “Please, Sara. I'm begging you, please don't.”

I watch the sheet slip off of her pale skin and it causes my mouth to salivate, but I force that down because my guts have no more room when the fear has settled so thickly into the pit of my being. But then her face is turning slightly in my direction, though not fully looking at me. “I'm not, but we need to get up. We have to be at the studio by ten and it's already 8:45.”

I move to sit up in the bed, holding my weight up on my right arm, not caring that the sheet is dropping off of my shoulders and exposing my breasts. “But you don't want to talk about it?” I question, wiping my tears on the back of my hand.

“Tegan, you have to give me time to think. I-”

We hear the doorbell ring, causing both of our eyes to shoot wide open in a panic. 

“Fuck,” I whisper, realizing that my shirt is on the floor of the living room and you can see both Sara's door and the living room from the window of the front door, trapping me inside of Sara's room, naked.

“Tegan, get your clothes on and answer the door,” she whispers, the panic causing her lisp to become pronounced. 

“I only have my jeans and bra, Sara. My shirt is in there.” I point in horror as the person at the door rings the bell, and due to the thin walls, we both nearly vomit when we hear Emy's voice. 

“Sare? Tegan?”

“I'm getting in the shower. Keep her in the kitchen. Goddammit, why is she even here?”

Sara is in her closet, throwing me a red band shirt before Emy gets my name out of her mouth again. I hurry and throw it over my shoulders, shimmying into my briefs and pants as the shower turns on. And just like that, the door is closed and she's gone, and there's a slight excitement in my heart at how pissed off Sara reacted to Emy being here, unexpectedly. Not that I don’t love Emy, because I do—she's truly one of our greatest friends—but I can't help myself, and I know Sara would say the same damn thing about LB. 

I open her bedroom door and spot Emy's face smiling at me through the window of the wooden front door. She waves and I wave back, rushing to get it open. 

“Tegan! Good Morning!” Her body towers over me as I'm wrapped up in an embrace. “What took you so long?”

“Emy, good morning! Sorry about the wait. . . Sara and I were fighting in her bedroom and I didn't hear you ring until the second time.” My sweaty hands move to smooth out my hair as she sits her duffel bag down.   
She gives me an odd look. “Then how do you know I rang twice?” I look at her, fumbling for an excuse for my slip up. Her lips pull into a smile and she giggles at my odd explanation, her face telling me she isn't really mad. “But yeah, I've been calling Sara's phone since last night around midnight to tell her I booked a 3:00 a.m flight back. Dallas and I finished the album artwork yesterday. . .I never got an answer though.”

“Damn, she must have left her cell phone somewhere. Sorry, Em. I was really sad last night when I got home from dropping Lindsey off so Sara and I played Guitar Hero and got really drunk. Too drunk, actually. Do you want breakfast, Em?” I lied through my teeth and changed the subject. I don't even know why I am lying or why I couldn't just stop after telling her I didn't know where Sara left her phone.

“Yeah, absolutely. That sounds wonderful, actually. You know how much the food on the plane sucks ass.” She moves into the kitchen, towards the coffee maker as I notice Sara and I's discarded shirts and my belt resting in a crumpled mess in front of the couch, causing me to panic again. God, so much anxiety and dread in my stomach and still two hours before noon. 

Looking over my shoulder to make sure Emy is still distracted in the kitchen, I quietly slip around the couch and kick the clothes underneath it with my socked feet, knowing I wouldn't have enough time to gather them in my hands and run them into our separate bedrooms. I flick my head to the left when I see Sara open her bedroom door, catching me as my foot retracts from under the couch, I can see her face fall in relief when she sees what I'm doing. She looks stressed out, and I can understand why, having to pick apart the emotions of what happened between us last night with her girlfriend unexpectedly showing up. 

I follow Sara into our kitchen where Emy is stationed at the countertop, already pouring Sara a cup of coffee that she hands over to her with a small smile. 

“So what were you guys fighting about this time?” Emy pries, sipping from her own black mug. 

“Fighting with who?” Sara asks behind the rim of her mug. Fuck, Sara. Shut the fuck up before we have to start answering questions that neither of us know how to answer. 

Emy shot a questioning glance at Sara, “Each other? Tegan told me you guys were arguing and that's why you didn't answer the door.”

Sara's eyebrows lift high on her forehead, as if she is just remembering that we were arguing. “Oh! Yeah, nothing serious. Tegan’s just being an asshole as usual, pitching a fit because she wanted to wear my shirt.”

I roll my eyes at her convincing lie. My stomach grumbling and reminding me that I have to eat after I shower. A glance at the clock on the microwave tells me it's 9:18. I still need to shower and prepare for the day, prepare my words for the future conversation I know that Sara and I will have to have soon. Rehearse what I want to say so she has no reason to pull away from me anymore, prepare myself to win the heart that already belongs to me. I feel ashamed thinking of this with Emy in front of me, but then again, I don't. The shame game is Sara's thing, and quite frankly I don't have time to war with myself over how I feel about her, because usually the only thing I ever think about is the full capacity of my love for her or overanalyzing everything she says and does to me and that's enough for me—I don't have room to entertain anymore thoughts. Especially negative ones. 

“Hey Sare, we're recording Back in Your Head today, yeah?”

She pulls apart from the embrace that Emy has her in, flicking damp hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, we are. Why?”

“It's already after nine and I haven't showered yet, so I'm gonna stay back and finish getting ready. You guys go ahead to the studio and tell Chris I won't be long.” 

She looks conflicted when our eyes meet but she nods anyways, knowing that she can't object to it with Emy in the room. I make my way into my bed and pull off my clothes, inhaling Sara's shirt as I strip it off my head. I make the quick decision to steal the damn thing, shoving it into my suitcase instead of my dirty clothes.

The hot water hits my back, stinging the red scratches left behind from Sara’s nails. I wash off the traces of her on my skin, wishing I could keep it forever, on and inside of me, and I finally get the chance to feel exactly how sore I am all over. Everything from my lower extremities to my thighs, inner and outer, to my hip bones and lower back feel tender to the touch. My body is bruised from repeatedly slamming into her hips, but my heart is bruised for repeatedly falling into this same endless cycle of heartbreak and sorrow. 

Pressing my forehead against the cold tile, I allow myself to cry over the love I have and have loss for her. Over what we did last night, over the anticipation of our conversation and the thought that Sara might end up avoiding it all together like she does most things. 

I cry harder over Emy being here and not knowing when she's going to leave. Over the thought that what I grasped so tightly in my hands last night, both her body and soul, could so easily slip right through my fingers again. 

 

Sara

I toss my bag over my shoulder as the attractive flight attendant steps up to the podium labeled Southwest Airlines and wrap my hand around the black canvas luggage at my side with a sigh. 

“We will begin boarding for flight number 2086, Denver to Los Angeles,” she announces to the small crowd.

My nerves are shot, they have been since I purchased this red-eye two nights ago, and knowing that Emy is still pissed because I left is not helping. She refuses to talk to me, angry that I bought the ticket and didn't come to her about it first. That ticked me off, causing me to remind her that she was my girlfriend and not my mother and I definitely didn't have to ask for permission as a grown woman before I went anywhere or did anything. That caused her to once again remind me that arguing with me is like arguing with a brick wall, and maybe it is pointless. Maybe I do project my issues onto other people and turn arguments around for my own benefit, but that’s why I have a therapist to tell me these things so my fucking girlfriend doesn't feel inclined to do so. Either way, she hasn't spoken to me since that night, especially after I couldn't explain to her why I decided to take the flight to L.A. to see Tegan when we would be leaving for tour in a week. She wanted to know why in the hell I couldn't just wait another week and choose to spend the last few days I had with her in our home before a six month tour. Truthfully, I couldn't answer that—because what would I even say? Remind her that Tegan will always come first? Tell her that I cannot take another fucking day smothering in the Montreal summer, having not seen or spoken to Tegan since I left Portland—who is also upset with me and is completely unaware that I'm coming.

And having to see her cry and yell at me from our kitchen as she accepts what she already knows to be true, I think it’s all too much and the final straw for her. 

Although she wouldn’t be the first to call it quits. People are certainly having their fair share of final straws with me as of late. Tegan being the first, realizing that what happened that night—that ungodly night between us—wasn't going to be discussed and probably would never happen again because the guilt that overcame me did exactly that, it overcame me. 

Overcame us. 

Again. 

And so here I am, sitting in this cramped airplane as I depart the Denver airport, my first layover, on my way to LAX to show up at Lindsey's house because I'm selfish and feel like I'm dying. I don’t care what anyone else says, I know for sure that I am fucking dying knowing that Tegan's sleeping next to someone, loving someone else, giving herself to someone else because I don't give her reason to believe I even want her, though she's quite literally the only thing I think my soul will ever want or need. 

I see the attendant make her way down the row to me with her tray of drinks, handing me the vodka soda and coffee I ordered and paid way too much for, as if I needed it. As if my hands aren't already shaking.

I don't realize how fully unprepared I am until we're landing, and for the first time I wonder why I'm here. I look down at my Blackberry, double checking to make sure I still have Lindsey's address that Mum sent me in my message thread. If I scroll down more, I'll see where I asked her not to tell Tegan that I asked for it and my lame response of ‘just so I know where she's staying in case of emergency’ and Mum’s response of ‘okay, Sare’. 

What am I doing here? What if they're not home and I have to sit outside? Why couldn't I just wait another week? I'll regret this when I'm cramped on a bus with her for half a year. 

My legs move in strides through the airport, I look at the floor and walk briskly because if I move too slowly people will recognize me in Los Angeles and my mood isn't very autograph friendly at the moment.

I wave for a cab once I get through luggage claim and out the door, allowing myself to enjoy the lack of humidity in the air during the L.A. summer, so unlike the smoldering city where my house and girlfriend reside. I hate myself at the disgust I feel when I refuse to consciously call anything but Tegan my home.

But God doesn't like me, so Tegan remains exactly that—home. And I sink into a deep self-deprecation at that thought alone, wishing I could somehow cut my brain out without killing myself, because if I don’t know anything else, I know that I am too much of a coward to commit to her they way she deserves. Which means I will always be a wandering fool until I can no longer run from the terrifying reality about where I belong. 

Twenty short minutes later with my brain on autopilot, and I find myself standing in front of a quaint, white, one-story house. I notice Lindsey's Prius in the driveway, confirming that I am indeed at the right place. Shaky legs make their way up the driveway to the side door, then up the two stone steps. Equally shaky hands give two shaky knocks, alerting its residents of my presence. 

I move in closer to the door, hopeful to hear voices or footsteps so I can calm the part of my brain telling me that I might be stranded here or that I have the wrong address. Distant laughter is what filters through my eardrums, followed by a nearing, “I got it, babe,” coming from my equal. 

“Who is it?” She asks from behind the door separating us, before opening it to an assumed stranger. I choke on my own name, realizing that if this was in fact a mistake running back to the airport is no longer an option. 

“It- it's me, Tee,” I stutter, nerves bringing my lisp to the forefront.

“Sara?” She swings the door open, looking at me like a car crash. I have the overwhelming feeling to become Susie the bear, zipping myself up in the bear suit to hide away from her scrutiny, the worlds’ scrutiny, my own fucking scrutiny. I can't even force a smile at her; I'm probably going to throw up any second now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Lindsey 

I cross my legs beneath me on my couch, ear turned towards the kitchen to pick up the harsh whispers coming from the laundry room, past the kitchen, where I assume they are standing—thinking that I can't hear them. 

“-selfish fucking asshole-” 

“-don't understand, Tegan, I-” 

“-only thing I don't understand is why you-”

For the most part, I have to pick apart what they’re saying because it’s muffled and quiet. I can tell Tegan is angry, judging by the tone of her voice from the words I do pick up on, and Sara’s constant “shhh” anytime her volume spikes in exasperation.

It’s surprisingly hard to understand what they’re saying. 

“-come here and ruin-” 

“Lower your voice. Don't be rude.” Sara interrupts, in a normal volume.

“Rude? Showing up somewhere you're uninvited is fucking rude, Sara!”

It’s quiet now, and I can only assume that Sara doesn't have anything to say. I don’t know why she's here either, although there’s not a single part of me that minds and truth be told I’m actually excited. It's not that I think she doesn’t like me, but she’s clearly hesitant to start a friendship with me, and I blame that on the debauchery of Tegan and I’s relationship in the beginning. I’m sure Sara had to watch her sister go through an unbearable amount of longing because of me. So I’m patient with her, and I’m going to give her time to come to me, if she ever does want a friendship. The prospect of getting to spend time with both of them for a few days before they’re on tour, gives me hope that Sara and I will find that common ground and I’ll be able to ensure her that my intentions, though rocky to begin with, are pure. 

“I'll get a hotel then, or go back to Montreal.” Sara's voice is broken and I think that she probably wasn't prepared for Tegan’s negative reaction.

I wish they didn't fight so much. It seemed like the entire time I was in Portland they were having a pissing contest, seeing who can nag and push the other the furthest. My feet hit the floor, feeling guilty for snooping, but knowing that I’ll need to intervene before someone throws a punch. Tegan told me during a conversation a week ago that she and Sara never really come to agreements or compromises until someone lays hands on the other. I feel like a mom, probably how Sonia feels, having to break up two teenage siblings that would rather fight over who gets the last can of soda from the fridge instead of sharing it.

“Sara, you’re more than welcome to stay in the extra bedroom.” I speak up, rounding the corner into the kitchen where I can see them. They stand there, mirroring each other, a few feet apart. Tears are streaming down Sara’s face that she quickly wipes off with the corner of her jacket and I fold my arms when I see how angry Tegan is, fists clenched by her side, shooting her a glare for being so rude. 

“She’s perfectly fine to stay here. You don’t even know why she’s here, something could have happened. Have you asked?” I jump to Sara’s defense, slightly upset with Tegan for her attitude. I watch her face redden as she looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Sara, why are you here, honey? Not that it changes anything, just trying to remind Tegan that a little bit of patience would probably have prevented how pissed off she is right now.” I turn to her and ask sweetly with a smile, knowing that Tegan and I will probably have an argument about this later tonight. 

Her eyes shoot between Tegan and I, mouth opening and closing with a clenched jaw as she seems to struggle for what to say. 

“Emy is smothering me,” She speaks quickly, and I notice Tegan roll her eyes. 

She spits, irritated, "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

“Tegan, what is wrong with you!” My voice is raised, not because I mean it, but she really doesn't have to be so fucking rude. “Why are you acting like this? I’ve never seen you act like this.”

“Because she, she always has a reason. She always has a goddamn reason and it’s always about her and I’m fucking sick-”

“I miss you,” Sara whispers, angry now, and I watch the moisture in her eyes spill over again and she turns away from us, hand reaching next to her to grab the handle of her suitcase to leave. 

Tegan’s eyes flick to mine with an unreadable expression of desperation and fury and she’s reaching out the door to her sister, her hand wrapping around Sara’s frail bicep to keep her from leaving. Something tells me I need to give them privacy, I am blocking them from working through this, and I can tell from the way that Tegan is staring at Sara— as if she has to say something, but she knows she can’t. 

The tension is thick enough to cut in two pieces, laying a heavy awkward film over the three of us until I can’t take it anymore. I feel like a stranger in my own house, but Tegan did warn me that being with her is having to be with Sara too, so I guess this is something I'll have to adjust to now that we’re together.  
“I’m going to run to Whole Foods and grab dinner and a few scary movies for tonight. Sara, you’re more than welcome to stay. There are clean sheets on the bed and towels in the linen closet if you want to shower. Tegan can show you.”

She nods, breaking Tegan’s eye contact when her arm is released from her sister’s grasp. “That’s very kind of you, Lindsey. Thank you.”

I give her a reassuring smile, reaching for my wallet and keys from the wooden island at the center of my kitchen. “I'll be back in a couple of hours, babe. You guys talk this through without ripping each other apart, please?” 

I kiss her hot cheek as I'm moving past, feeling the warmth from her blush on my lips.

“Okay,” She says, giving me a thoughtful glance and I feel like she can breathe again knowing that they’ll have some time alone. 

***

The drive to the grocery store is nearly peaceful until my cell phone rings, interrupting The Cranberries blasting through my radio for my loudly screeching ringtone. I press the answer button on my steering wheel, transferring the call through my aux cable and into my car’s speakers. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, LB. It’s Emy.”

I smile, taking a right turn onto the busy highway. “Hey, Em. Your girlfriend is at my house. Aren’t you coming on tour with them too?”

“I’m aware,” her voice is tired, “She booked the ticket without telling me, and I’ll be with them for the second half of their tour when they’re in the UK. I have deadlines until then.” 

“Really? That’s odd. I left her and Tegan at the house to work out their issues, they got into it. Tegan’s not too happy that she’s here.”

“I figured she wouldn’t be.” She coughs, seeming distracted from something for a minute. “I don't know what’s going on with her, Linds. She doesn’t even kiss me anymore. She has barely touched me since Portland, yesterday before I knew about the plane ticket I reached for her hand and it was like the feeling of my skin disgusted her.”

I crinkle my eyebrows together in confusion. “That is definitely odd. And she’s been acting like that since Portland? I mean, I’ve been told that Sara was definitely the colder one of the two but I didn’t know she was like that.”

“But that’s the thing, Linds. . .she’s not always like that. At least she hasn’t always been like that. She used to only act cold around Tegan, like as soon as Tee stepped into the room, she’d drop my hand if she was holding it. She rarely ever let me kiss her when we were all out somewhere together, and I get that. . .she said it’s because it grosses Tegan out to see her sister being physical with someone. But the past three months? There’s no explanation for that, Tegan wasn’t around. We haven’t had sex once in over five months.”

“Five months? Jesus. Tegan and I probably have sex five times a day.”

“That’s great, LB.” Her voice is distraught and I realize rubbing my happy relationship in her face was probably not a kind thing to do.

“I’m sorry, Em.” I grimace. 

“It’s okay. It’s just- it’s just that I don’t think she loves me anymore, you know? I really don’t think it’s there anymore.” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence, letting me know she’s seconds from crying. 

“No, don’t think like that, Em. I’m sure Sara loves you. I just think she’s stressed out. This is the longest tour they’ve ever been on and she and Tegan don’t seem to be doing too well right now. I mean, I couldn’t imagine. My brother and I would kill each other if we had to be together for that long, especially if we’re already fighting. Just give her some patience, but don’t think she doesn’t love you.”

I hear her release a long, drawn-out sigh. “I didn’t even consider that. She’s probably there to mend things between them. You know they haven’t spoken since Portland right?”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve spent the last three months watching Tegan in agony, typing out long messages to Sara and talking herself out of it before she sends it. They all start out heartfelt and vulnerable but end in her cussing Sara out for who knows what.”

“Jesus, Sara hasn't said a word about Tegan since we got home. She didn't even say anything the day the album was released.”

“Tegan won't talk about what happened or why they argued or what it was even over. I just end up letting it go before-”

“Oh yeah,” Emy's yankee accent interrupts me. “You’ll need to give that up. I stopped trying to pry information out of Sara over a year ago. It’s kind of sweet actually, it’s like there’s no one else in the world who can piss each other off the way they piss each other off, yet I’ve never seen Sara protect anything the way she protects Tegan and their relationship.”

“Does that make you jealous?” I inquire, glad that Emy has calmed down and stopped crying.

“It used to, but not so much anymore. Sara is a private person and I value her desire to keep things private. But if I’m being honest, it definitely used to bug the fuck out of me.”

I laugh, pulling into the Whole Foods parking lot. “I think it’s sweet. I just hope they’ll mend things before I get back home or else I’ll have to call Sonia.”

Emy’s laughter roars through the phone as I claim a parking spot, mentally giving myself a high five for finding one dead center and close to the door. She tells me, “I've had to do it before! I won't even lie. Three years ago, they beat the shit out of each other in a restaurant parking lot in Vancouver, in broad daylight too. I thought Tegan was actually going to suffocate, Sara.”

“What did you do? Call Sonia?” I disconnect my phone from the cord and shut the car door, walking into the store. 

“Hell yeah! I grabbed Sara's phone out of the bus, and luckily, Sonia’s school was only like three minutes away. She was in the car and on her way over before we hung up. It wasn’t a fun day for them. She gave them both this long lecture about how ridiculous they looked and how they need to get their shit together before they really end up hurting each other. It was bad, but if there's anyone who can silence both of them, it’s their mom. Sometimes we’d be on tour and they’d be fighting, and if I so much as mentioned calling Sonia, they’d quit.” 

“And they’ve somehow been doing this for nearly ten years?" My hands grab a shopping cart, sandwiching the phone between my shoulder and ear. 

“Yeah, I don't know.” We both sigh for the women we love. “They love each other, you’ll see it eventually. It’s admirable.”

***

And it really is admirable. I think to myself as we all sit on my red leather couch underneath a blanket, watching some new scary movie called Prom Night that I rented from the Redbox outside of Whole Foods. I'm on the far right, with Tegan in the middle, and Sara on her left. 

When I got back home, they were no longer fighting. I found them sitting in the living room across from each other, both of their eyes puffy from crying and a smile on Tegan’s face. I remember internally sighing, relieved that I didn't have to call their mom. Sara showered and got settled into the spare room while I made fettuccine alfredo with Tegan. She has a certain comfort and ease to her now that I can only blame on her sister’s close proximity. It didn’t bother me that Sara was the one who gave her that kind of serenity. I’m way more bothered when they fight, and jealousy is out of the question, knowing how much Sara means to the woman I think I’m falling in love with. 

But still, I can’t quite place it—Tegan’s newfound ease. 

 

Tegan 

Quiet voices filter into my eardrums, waking my brain from its sleepy daze. I keep my eyes shut and breathe in, registering the smell as Sara’s scent. I’ve got my head in Sara’s lap, feet under the blanket and draped across Lindsey’s soft thighs. I must’ve fallen asleep at some point across the couch, but the movie is still playing, filling the living room with screams coming from what I assume are the kids at prom being murdered or something. I fell asleep before the action. The voices that woke me up come from Sara and Lindsey, who are both presently touching me, Lindsey's warm fingers rub circles on my socked feet below my ankles and Sara's cold hands run my hair softly behind my crooked ear. She’s touching me? With Lindsey next to me? She usually won’t even touch me in daylight; maybe she really did miss me. 

Wait, she’s touching me. I feel my heart rate increase, hoping that Sara can’t feel that too. Through the sleepy daze, I pick up on what they’re saying.

“I appreciate you taking care of her while we’re on break.” Sara’s soft voice. She’s nervous, I can hear it in her lisp. 

Oh God, it’s happening. The talk. I feel like I’m 14 again, watching my boyfriend have a conversation with Bruce about me in the living room. My brain is confused as to who is my boyfriend in this present situation, but for once, I don’t feel guilt.

“Of course, Sara.”

“I- I wanted to apologize to you if showing up here was rude, I didn’t intend-”

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m glad you did actually.” I can hear Lindsey’s smile in her voice, reminding me of one of the many things that I adore about her— her radiating happiness. Such a stark contrast to Sara’s creased browns and hesitation, not that it makes a difference. 

“Yeah?” Sara asks, “Why?”  
“She’s at ease around you, different than with me, and I wanted to show you that I have good intentions. I feel like we haven’t even had the chance to hang out, you know?”

I feel Sara take a deep breath, and it’s almost as if I feel her heart aching inside of my chest.

“I never questioned your intentions, Lindsey. . .” Sara trails off, keeping her voice low to not wake me. “I’m wary of anyone receiving Tegan’s affection. Sometimes I feel like I have to protect her, even though she’s the older one.”

Lindsey must have nodded, because Sara continues, “But I knew you were different, and sometimes I think that scares me. . .she’s not like me, she’s naturally gentle and kind. I’ve seen a lot of people take advantage of that.” Her voice trails off again. I wonder if her tongue curls inside of her mouth at how hypocritical she’s being. “But no, I don’t see that with you.”

They stay silent, I assume looking at each other, long enough for me to fall back asleep under the touch of Sara absentmindedly playing with my hair. The same way that Mum used to do for me when I was a child, just the way Sara knows I enjoy it.

I’m asleep before I hear Sara whisper, painfully, “You’ll pick up on it, that. . .that the only one I allow to hurt her is myself.”

 

Sara

I open my eyelids at the sound of a guitar being picked from the room beside the one where I’m temporarily sleeping. My eyes move from the ceiling to the old yellow bookcase pushed up against one of the walls, the shelves are lined with soft and hard covers, organized by color scheme. It’s enough to almost draw me out from between these sheets to run my fingers across the various binds.

Almost.

Instead I lay here, nostalgia taking over, and I feel the same feeling in my gut with a tinge of sadness as my mind pushes itself back to 2002 when I would often wake up to the same sounds I'm hearing now—Tegan playing guitar in a house that's too quiet. Her singing voice has always been intense and raspy, chock-full of pain. It humors me, the irony of it all—Tegan’s lyrics for I Know I Know I Know. “I wake up to the sound of you working, you’re one room right over, stressing and loving me.” Lyrics that she stole out of my journal.

Whatever melody she’s playing, it’s sweeter that the song I woke up to that morning in 2002, but I can’t recognize the tune or lyrics. It must be new. 

My socked feet hit the carpet floor. I want to get closer so I can hear what she's playing. Soon, I'm standing in her open doorway, arms crossed in front of me, overwhelmed with a feeling that makes me forget that I'm only in a t-shirt and boy briefs. The fact that Lindsey might be here to witness it all evades my mind. Instead I lean against the doorway, enjoying the fact that my presence is undetected so she can play without the limited awareness of another pair of ears. Her fingers scribble something down on the notepad by her feet and she starts the song over, fingers plucking at the strings in a drawn out intro.

“I don’t need company, in the company of you. I don’t need love, your love will do. And I’ve got you, and you’ve got me, and that’s all we need.”

Another scribble in the book before she continues, “I don’t need air-” voice cracking, I feel my own eyes moisten. “-no, I don’t need to breathe. I don’t need rest, no, I don’t need to sleep.” 

I swallow it down, I’d probably hear the voice in my head ask if this was written for me but I already know the answer to that from the way her voice, so gentle, almost whispering, cracks again. 

“When I get up, so do you. When you get up, I’ll sleep right through. And on the road, I’ll sleep alone, but I can’t wait until I'm home.”

She stops, head dropping towards the floor and I watch her shoulders shake, a product of what I’ve done to her. And I hate myself a little more inside. I feel that hate and I reel in that anguish, and for a few seconds, I feel guilt. Though it’s a different kind of guilt than what is typically related to Tegan, albeit as much as it is different, it’s still so familiar.

My feet shift my weight, causing the floor to creak and startle Tegan, interrupting the wet streaks I find on her face when she looks at me with her messy hair.

“Oh, Sara, I-”

“It’s beautiful, whatever it is.” I try to smile through my internalized loathing.

She places the guitar gently on the ground, wiping her eyes and staring at me. She is one room right over, stressing and loving me. Never in the same room because I would never allow such proximity, but always stressing and loving me. 

“Thanks. I think I’m going to make it a soundcheck song. I just woke up today after Lindsey headed to work and had this tune in my head, I figured I should make something of it.”

“Well,” I speak up and move to sit down across from her on the carpeted floor, feeling the need to put my pride for her and her talent into words, a rarity within itself. “I think it's beautiful, possibly one of my favorites.”

She blushes and I eat that up. I don’t know why, I can’t put my finger on it, but suddenly I want to be open and honest with her because she needs it and I need it to. We both need it, and I'm afraid that one day I’ll find myself with her entirely pushed away from me, one day I’ll push her too far if I don’t give her what I owe her. She has only ever wanted my openness and honesty, even if it’s only for a minute. 

“Tee, I- I feel like what I did with you in Portland was a great disservice to you and I-”

Her face falls, thinking that I’m talking about what we did and not how I acted. “If you’re here to tell me that it was a mistake then-“

“No, I'm not talking about that, entirely. I- listen. Just sit here and listen because you deserve that and I don’t know how much I’ll be able to say before I can’t say anything anymore.”

She looks surprised and immediately shuts up, willing me to continue. “Avoiding you the way I did after. . .after what we did. . .it was a-“ I swallow the guilt, an impediment to my openness. “it was wrong of me to do what I did to you, after that- after we. . .” I trail off, struggling to say it. She nods, letting me know I don’t have to.

“I don’t know why being away from you for too long makes me feel crazy and being that close to you makes me feel even more insane. I know it’s different for both of us, and I never want you to think that I came here to keep you from being unhappy, I never wanted that. She. . .Lindsey, she’s sweet and I do, I do want you to be happy, I just. . .I know that we can never ever be together, fuck-“ My head drops as it becomes too much, too overwhelming, there’s too many things to say and my mouth just keeps talking without organization. It’s not fair to her for me to not be organized so she can fully understand. I feel a finger on my chin and watch as a tear hits her palm, moving my head up to look at her. She nods in understanding, telling me with her eyes that the disorganized mumbling is excused, as long as she gets anything out of me at all it will suffice. I feel shitty for never being good enough for her. 

“There’s something inside of me that doesn’t allow me to give you what you need, and both loving you and touching you and the guilt I feel for doing that are very strong things I can’t control. All of it makes me feel crazy and insane, and I’m telling you this because I don’t know if it will ever happen again. Truthfully, as much as my heart breaks because of that, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love you without that sick guilty feeling accompanying it. I’m telling you this because- because I need you to be happy without needing or expecting me to be the one causing that happiness.”

Her tears fall into her lap every time she blinks and we feel the heartbreak all at once, but that’s not what I’m doing this for, maybe it’s not what I ever intend to do it for. When you talk about something that’s the physical equivalent of a fresh stab wound, maybe the heartbreak will always be there. 

“I need you. And you must never forget that, you must never forget how much I need you because it has always been there. Loving you, I’m afraid loving you is something that I will never be able to get away from. The way I feel for you surpasses how wrong it is, how sick it is for me to do that- to love you. Fuck-“ I break again. “But I want you to be able to have things that Lindsey can offer, that I’ll never be able to offer you, at least not in this life.”

Her eyes are dark, as if she hasn’t slept in days. Such a contrast from the way she looked when I arrived, lit up and smile lines on her face from basking in Lindsey’s happiness. I feel angry and jealous, not at Lindsey or at Tegan—no, of course not. I am always angry with myself. 

“Even now, I wish you could see the effects of me on you. The contrast between who you were and how happy you were when I got here compared to how you look now, it’s like I drain you. It would make me happier to know that you look the way you did when you opened that door, smiling and happy because of someone that isn’t me.”

She cries angry tears now. Her words are sharp when she says, “Then why did you come here? Why can’t you just stay the fuck away if that’s what you want?” Her face is screwed up in a sob now. She pulls away from me so she can get up, but I don’t want that, and I didn’t intend on this conversation turning sour. 

I reach for her face to cup her jawline, turning her to me and pleading, “Because I don't know how, Tegan.” 

I cry out, “I don't know how, and I’m not here to tell you to stay away from me because I don't know how to stay away from you, either, and it's probably going to kill us. It will kill us, Tee.” Both of my hands are cupping her jaw now, forcing her to look at me and expose her crying eyes. 

“Fighting it is killing us. Can’t you see this pattern?” 

Her eyebrows lift in pleading desperation, though her voice is barely above a whisper, “Something causes it to be too real for one of us, so someone leaves physically or emotionally or we fight, then the feeling of needing each other becomes too much so there we are again, waiting on someone to break the chain of ignoring the other. But I'm tired, Sara. I'm tired of doing that. Touching you, fuck-“ I feel her cheeks get warmer in her blush, and the moment is heavy with anguished lust when she bites the inside of her cheek in thought. “Touching you the way that I did, letting go of you completely- regressing, I can’t do that, you have to understand why I’ll never be able to be just your sister, that feeling will never leave me Sara.” 

“But my head will not allow anything to come of this, the guilt- I don't know if I will ever be able to fight it.” I move my eyes from her own twin hazel pair to her lips, and the pull is winding us together again, not giving a shit about the argument I am presenting. “Nothing will ever be able to materialize, I know that you understand that. As much as you know my need for you, this sick desire-“

“Don't call it sick, Sara, dont-“ Her neck craning to the side in an attempt to pull her head out of my grasp, but I refuse to let her go. Holding tighter, her hand pressing open palmed against my flat stomach and the cotton there.

“It is, this- this is sick.” I raise my voice slightly louder than a whisper, because I can’t speak openly when we are in another’s house. “I’m not demonizing it, I’m not saying it’s invalid, but you’re my sister, and fuck. . .“ 

I press my fingers into the muscle and bone of her jaw because the pull tightens again, pulling us close enough that my lips brush against hers. I’m out of my crisscross sitting formation and on my knees leaning over her as soon as our lips touch. I know that God is laughing at me now, in such a position, laughing at how pathetic I look, needing to kiss her after telling her how unpalatable it is that we kiss sometimes. She moans, teeth clenching behind her lips so tightly that I feel they’ll crumble, and I feel the flexing in result of that behind my fingers and suddenly I remember that I’m in my underwear because I feel that wetness there, giving me nausea. 

“You can’t. . .it’s not sick.” She tries to mumble, but she’s insatiable, and I pray for forgiveness from the God who hates me because I’m flooded by a hurricane as she grips the skin beneath my ass. Her short nails dig deeply into my flesh, lifting me easily with the muscles I don’t possess in my stature, until I am planted in her lap as her tongue meets my own in fury. A car honks distantly from a few blocks away-

“No-” I am placed on my ass again, catching myself on my hands behind my back, looking at her in shock. Her eyes are closed, fists tightening so hard for control that I see veins popping beneath her skin. Her head shakes slightly, lips parted between intakes of air that her lungs struggle for. “Not in Lindsey's house.”

And suddenly I am pissed, ears red in anger from being denied because it’s such a rare thing for her to deny me. Pissed that she’s getting a taste of the incarnated fight I have to deal with on a day to day basis. My anger convinces me to use this moment as an opportunity to make a few points. So when her eyelids open slowly, heavy from the weight of desire, she finds that my legs have parted, revealing to her what she’s done to me. My tongue peaks out to attend to dry lips, my eyes dare her. I dare her to do something, dare her to deny it again the way that I have done to her so many times.

Her hands shake with her breath, reaching out to me and retracting as if she’s been burned. She tightly grips the material of her sweat pants until the cloth wrinkles beneath the grasp. 

I speak up under hooded eyelids, “Show me then, show me how sick it isn’t to you, if it’s not. You can’t, can you? You can’t show me, Tegan. You can’t find yourself knuckle deep inside of me while in your girlfriends house because. . .because it is sick.”

“Stop,” she whispers, veins in her neck straining so hard I see them. “You don’t know what you’re saying- fuck, Sara.” She can’t take her eyes off of the parts of my body that I’ve exposed to her. 

“Do you see how I feel now? Do you see what I go through every time I look at you?”

“I mean it, shut the fuck up.” That goddamn jaw is clenching again and I hear the growl in her throat roar louder. “Stop testing me.”

“I’m just trying to show you how I feel, because clearly my explanations are falling on deaf ears.”

Her fists come up in open palms and clench again, telling me she’s getting irritated at her fading restraint, eyes closing like a child in a scary movie.

“They’re not falling on deaf ears. Fuck, I- just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t mean that what you’re saying is falling on deaf ears.” I can see the sweat shine her forehead, though it isn’t hot in here. I want to laugh, but I don’t, because I am sure she would hit me.

“Then why aren't you fucking me right now? Because it’s disrespectful. . .because it’s sick?” 

“Because I'm tired of doing this-“

“Doing what?” I challenge her, head cocked to the side. “I’m just trying to show you how I feel, I’m trying to show you the internal war that I have to end every goddamn time you’re close to me.”

Her head is shaking again, along with her palms, along with her trembling lips. Something snaps in her, her voice coming out of a whisper, “I don’t have the strength you do. I’ve never put you in a position like this and-“ she grits her teeth, eyes pained, “if you don't fucking stop talking. . .I’m going to fucking make you. Please, Sara. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

That one actually does make me laugh, she can’t be serious. “I know exactly what I’m doing to you because I’m in your position every day of my life. This is what loving you feels like, Tegan. That feeling you have in your veins right now, that pull you feel. . .how bad you want to put your hands on me and touch me. . .it’s like drinking water when you’re in hell, isn’t it? It’s like getting a bit of the purest form of drug, and the guilt you feel on top of it, because of it, keeps you from drinking it. . .from doing it. This is why it can’t materialize, because it’s corporeal- the risk, it’s too sick.”

Whatever it was inside of her broke, and before I know it she’s in my face. Thumb and forefinger pressing into my cheek so hard that I’m forced to stare at her, watching her nostrils flare and her eyes almost roll back into her head from the proximity, the smell—she’s drinking her water and feeling the drugs in her bloodstream. 

“Don’t ever confuse yourself, loving you- in my eyes- is not and will never be sick.” Her head hangs, shoulders too tired to keep the weight up, grip loosening but not enough for me to move.

“Attend to it then,” I whisper into the inches that stand between us.

And so she does, losing the battle I knew she never had a chance of winning, not when our plight was this ingrained into our entire being. Fingers tear my underwear off and find the product of this morning, giving me no warning before they stretch me wide open, prying a scream from beneath clenched teeth that she silences with her mouth. And I think to myself—is this what we will do for the rest of our lives? Restrain until it all becomes too much, although I admit that I’ve caused this outpouring by tempting her with my own need for her. 

The thought is placed on the back burner as a third finger is added, coaxing and slamming, hard enough to bring my hands up to brace myself and around her back where the muscles flex and contract there. Our mouths are open, inches apart, eye contact unable to be broken because I can’t fucking move, and then I'm at my peak, not even a minute after she began. I’m unable to form a thought with the rhythm of her fingers curling, but I notice her left hand grasping at her own sweatpants and black briefs, tugging them down enough for her to kick them off as I ride through the tremors with her still pressed inside of me.

I barely get a second to breathe before both of my ankles are being lifted into the air, knees against my chest and heat fully exposed to the cool air. My consciousness recoils, hiding from having to watch her look down at what belongs to her. 

“Oh fuck, Sare.” She’s weakened at the sight of me, things she’s never seen before, and I feel myself get wetter at how unorthodox she’s being, her eyebrows creasing in hunger. I flush, unsure of how comfortable I am with the state that I’m in and the way she looks at my pussy like her mouth is watering. I hear the voice inside of my head tell me how fucking disgusting we are, reminding me that the example I set with Tegan earlier is actually a reality for me, something that makes me close my eyes for a second to ward off these thoughts until I'm alone because I know that they’re nowhere near in comparison to the way my heart and soul feels when she’s touching me, looking at me like I’m her only source of food, her favorite fucking drug—because I am. 

I open my eyes again as her weight settles on my thighs and she positions herself against me—doing something I've never done with anyone in my entire life—but I think she knows that, and I think that's why she did it. She wants to claim me and give me something no one else ever has. I can’t believe I allow her to do it, in broad daylight, in someone else's house. . .I am out of my goddamn mind.

But the way she crumbles with her head thrown back to expose neck muscles and veins when her set of nerves touches my heat, I nearly forget my own name. 

Nearly. 

And when my own clit is grazed, fully exposed and lit on fire, even with the new burn in my thigh muscles, my name is surely forgotten. 

I cry out, grasping onto the underside of her jaw as a bead of sweat falls off of her nose and onto my white sleep shirt. She rocks her hips into oblivion on top of me, biceps flexed beneath her tattoos as she keeps her death grip on my calf muscles. I’ll be black and blue tomorrow around my thighs, though I could care less. 

“Fuck, Tee- Tegan, oh my God,” I whimper, feeling everything get instantly wetter than it was when she hits a certain spot, and I can feel my fluids run down the curve of my ass where my tailbone is digging into the carpet. 

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you’ll cum for me, tell me Sara.” She heaves the words out, barely able to speak from the exertion. Her hips press down, changing angles and causing her to graze over those nerves every time she thrusts upwards. I can barely get the words out in result of sheer ecstacy. 

“I love you,” I find the air to give her the tender moment, my ultimate truth, face contorting in pleasure to match hers. 

“Tell me you’ll come for me.” She drills, faster, and I gape in amazement at her abdomen muscles contorting and the exertion she’s capable of putting her body through. 

“Fuck, I- I’m gonna come for you. I'm gonna cum all over you.” I shriek, digging nails into her arm to keep her here with me as we near the mountain peak together. 

Always together.

“Give it to me. Cum with me.” She’s breaking her momentum now, eyebrows pulling together and I know my face is a reflection of her own. I feel her reach the point seconds before me, but I fall with her, feeling her slam herself into me over and over again in a spasm. And I hope to the awful God above that Lindsey doesn’t have neighbors who are home right now because neither one of us can keep quiet at this point, and I can’t tell whose cry is whose or whose flood is whose, but I feel it saturate my thighs and the floor beneath us, seeping inside of me- giving me Tegan and making me feel absolutely filthy. I push that down because she’s sobbing into my chest, completely spent and emotions at the surface- so I allow myself to cry too, clenching onto her t-shirt as our bodies shake violently together. 

“Don’t ever call us sick again.” She cries in my arms. “Don't ever tell me that it’s sick when I love you so goddamn much. I love you so much, Sara. I- I love you so fucking much and I have nowhere to go with it.”

Our mouths become reacquainted and I feel lost at this because I need air but I need to feel her more before guilt overcomes me, because it’s the truth. There’s nowhere to go with what we have, what we feel for each other, and we can’t keep doing this because one day we will get caught or we will get in so deep that we won't have a shot at a normal life and I think she knows that too, and I think we might already be there—in too deep. 

Those are words for another day, though. So I shove it back down until that day comes so I can cry with her, holding her to me because she is me and she is mine and I have no other choice. I am restrained by this.

“I don't know what to do, I- I don't know how to not love you. I can’t not love you. It’s not sick, Sara,” she cries, loudly and so violently that it's almost tender. “I can’t not love you.”

“I know, Tee, I know.”

 

Lindsey 

My keys turn to the left to unlock the deadbolt, and I shuffle inside the quiet house with my arms full of camera and computer bags. The smell of food that’s cooking falls around me, reminding me that I haven’t had anything to eat since I left the house around nine o’clock this morning. I walk through the laundry room, turning the corridor to the kitchen where I see the girls stand on the opposite side of the island, facing towards one another in a moment that seems too tense and too quiet, as if they were talking about something and had to stop because I walked in. 

“Hey guys, I don’t know what’s in the oven but it smells delicious.” I smile, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the air. Sara gives a sad smile and breaks eye contact with her sister who stands inches in front of her, wringing her hands together. Tegan’s eyes however never leave Sara, searching for something and smothered in pain. 

“Hey Lindsey, don’t you smoke? Do you have a cigarette I can bum?” Sara asks me, breaking me from the protective look I have on Tegan. I nod, placing my bags on the kitchen table where I’ll spend hours editing tonight. 

“Yeah, I only smoke socially but there in the top left drawer next to the oven, there should be a few lighters next to them too.” My hands open the zipper to the computer bag where my new Mac rests. 

“Sara, come on-” Tegan argues against Sara’s smoking, exasperated, but she’s already walking out of the back door. 

“What was that about? Are you guys okay?” I rub up and down her spine and watch as she holds onto the counter with her head lowered, chin touching her chest. 

“Yeah, yeah. . .we’re okay.” And I know she’s lying, but before I can say anything about it her Blackberry is ringing from her back pocket. With a long sigh, she answers the call. I eavesdrop on the conversation, pulling what looks like a casserole out of the oven once the timer goes off.

“Hey Piers, what’s up?” 

Forking a small portion of the casserole into my mouth, I moan at the taste and wonder which one of the girls made it—if it’s Sara, I’ll have to marry her. I sit here for a few minutes as Tegan listens to her manager talk, confusion on her face every now and then.

“Is it good? It was our grandmothers recipe. Tegan forces me to make it sometimes because she says I’m the only one who can get it right.” Sara’s voice pipes up from behind me, grabbing her own fork to cut a slice out of the casserole and onto a plate that she puts in front of Tegan, whose eyes nearly roll back into her head at the first bite. I flush at her face, twisted in pleasure, memories of that same face in a different context through the last few months we’ve spent together. 

“It’s so good, oh my God. I’m with the wrong twin.” I moan again, watching her give a crooked smile and shake her head. The smile drops off her face, only a hint of it left at the corner of her lips, melancholy.

“Cooking is Tegan’s thing, I don’t do it often.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” We both turn towards Tegan, surprised at her tone of voice. “No, we aren’t doing that.” 

“Doing what, Tegan?” Sara asks, confusion lifting her eyebrows when her sister holds up a finger to silence her for a second. 

“Piers, we can’t fucking fly out tonight. We aren’t even packed. I don’t understand- a storm?” 

I feel a wave of sadness settle in my stomach. They weren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow morning. 

“But that doesn’t make sense, it makes no sense for the entire airport to be closed because of a storm and- you said what?” she pauses, throwing her free hand in the air with sarcasm, “Oh, even better, it isn’t even closed yet. Makes total sense.” 

She puts her hands over the receiver, looking at Sara. “Jill and Piers think we need to fly out tonight to get to Atlanta in case our flight is cancelled overnight. Apparently, Atlanta is supposed to be hit with really bad weather between now and tomorrow night.” 

“Is our show going to be canceled?” She sighs and rolls her eyes, quietly speaking her concern. 

Tegan presses the speaker button and repeats her sisters’ question to the phone. I hear the man that I assume to be Piers laugh, “No girls, it’s indoors.” 

“What do you want to do, Sare?” Tegan’s eyes stare at Sara as she waits for her to respond, and I catch her eyes move between her sister’s own set of eyes and her lips? Repeatedly. Watching as she pulls her bottom lip behind her top with her teeth.

“I mean clearly it’s a concern, and we really can’t afford to miss a flight and have to cancel the show, Tee.”

I watch Tegan huff, looking at me with near pleading eyes but there’s nothing much that I can do, it’s their job. So I give an understanding nod, reassuring her that I won’t be angry that they have to go do their job. Sara giggles beside me, shaking her head at her own thoughts. 

“Hey, why don’t you tell Jill that we won’t go unless she books us fucking first class.” 

“Done.” Comes the voice of a female through the phone. “When do you want to fly out? I can get you on for 8:00 and 10:45.” 

 

Tegan

Sara and I settle into first class, putting our bags in the overhead bin of a massive Boeing jet. I’m anxious, and I forgot to bring my Dramamine with me. The plane is nearly empty which eases my panic; I hate flying and I hate big planes. I mean, it just doesn’t make much sense for something that massive and full of people to be soaring through the air at such a high speed. Lucky for me, there’s barely anyone in first class apart from an older gentleman a few rows ahead of us. 

I sit down in the comfortable chair and pull the blanket that Lindsey gave to me over my legs, nearly feeling guilty for how expensive these tickets must have been. 

Sara shuffles into her seat beside me, getting her ipod and headphones out of the small bag she borrowed from me to use as her carry-on. She’s incredibly upset at this moment, having realized once we started packing that she didn’t bring her tour clothes to Lindsey’s house from Montreal. And that is so unlike Sara, forgetting things- especially things of that nature. She’s even more upset at the fact that I laughed at her, and even more upset than that at the fact that she had to borrow a lot of my clothes. Clothes that she will have to wear until the tour hits Montreal, where she can go home and switch her wardrobe. 

We both order alcohol when the attendant comes over, asking if we would like to look at the food menu or order from a list of drinks. It doesn’t go unnoticed that we’re twins, and she asks us questions about that too. If I could hit my head incredibly hard to forget the fact that I’m a twin to Sara, without losing the full extent of- without losing the love for her- God knows I would.

I feel the sadness seep its ugly head into my chest and make itself home. Using words to describe that- that feeling that comes along with Sara, it’s incredibly difficult. Because nothing explains that, nothing. There is no word with the capacity or the sheer weight to explain it. It’s love but then again, it’s something much stronger than that. Inexplicably stronger, and I feel sad because I’ll never be able to explain that to her or anyone else although I know she feels it too. But the emotional part of me makes me feel like if I could explain it, it would give it a face. One she can’t ignore, one she can’t fight against, and we’d run off together to a country where it doesn’t come with legalities and negative moral adjudication. 

I drift into my thoughts, thoughts I’ll always drift off to, as the tired sounding pilot comes over the intercom to announce that we will be getting in position to depart. Why does he sound tired? 

I feel my stomach rise into my throat and we haven’t even lifted yet. But when we do, my hand flies to Sara’s in a strong grasp and she meets me halfway, curling her fingers into my own. Knowing me, knowing that I need her right now regardless of her noticeable aversion to physical contact with me. She hasn’t touched me since. . .since this morning. And my heart pangs at that, wishing she would touch me all the time.

“Shh, it’s okay. Hey,” She whispers into the darkness of the cabin, and I turn my head to meet her chocolate eyes, “it’s okay, everything’s okay.”

“I. . .” I trail off, unable to finish my sentence because I don’t want to piss her off by telling her I love her. She studies me, so I try to let her know by squeezing her hand a few times. 

“I know,” She says, “me too.” She whispers it because she does, because she has to, because less than eighteen hours ago I was filling her, seeping into her. And suddenly looking into her eyes like this reminds me of that new John Mayer song in my head, Gravity. I think that’s what it’s called, where he sings, “oh twice as much ain't twice as good, and can't sustain like one half could”, and I embrace that, and it’s truth because if we were one in the way we intended to be then I’d love myself with all that I could. 

But at the same time, maybe I am wrong. Maybe I am misunderstanding what the song is really trying to say. Maybe it’s saying that us being split into two halves was cosmic and correct, because if we were one it would be too much, canceling itself. I genuinely believe that God or the cosmos or whatever the hell it was that split us knew what it was doing, and intended on causing us to love, to feel the way we do about the other. It’s everyone else who is wrong and fucked up for condemning love, for condemning this.   
Sara would accuse me of smoking marijuana if I told her all of this though, refusing to try to understand or contemplate the why’s and how’s of our situation. This causes another great pang of sadness in the sorest parts of my chest, and so I think of another lyric from that same song where he sings, “Gravity, stay the hell away from me.” And I embrace that one, too. 

But it doesn’t embrace me, instead those feelings surface, and I softly open my mouth to whisper, “No, I do, I- I love you.” To Sara, who’s still staring at me, coaxing the nerves back down. I regret saying it when she flushes and removes her hand from mine, moving her earbuds to her face, but before she can put them in, she turns to look at me again. 

“Share the blanket?”

I smile, embarrassed for overreacting and unfolding it four times to drape it over our collective bodies, pulling it up to the start of our chests. She finds my hand again as our ascension comes to an end and the plane levels out, cooling the clammy palm of my right hand without a word. It’s clear to me now that the blanket was a cover, an enabler, one of the few times in my life that Sara’s natural manipulative abilities come in hand.

I smile bigger and look out the window, drifting off to sleep with the hum of the plane’s engines in my ears.

 

Sara

“Go fuck yourself, Sara.” Tegan mutters to me after I take a joke too far. I’m four shots of whiskey deep on the tour bus after our show, finding that drinking is the only thing that takes it all away, even for a split second. It seems as though my twin has taken one of my bad addictions from me as she lifts the window of the bus and lights a cigarette. 

She’s angry, it’s no question. She’s been angry for two days now. 

And she has reason to be, I’ve hurt her again, but my relationship is falling apart because of her and my only response to that is to push her away. 

Emy and I are down to less than five texts a day, her being short in each one, and the fucked up part is I need her. She’s one of the only ones who understands my tendencies and loves me for them, apart from Tegan, and sometimes I think she understands the pull between Tegan and I, but the thought of that makes me want to vomit, thinking in general makes me want to vomit. I pour another shot and down it, watching Tegan take a drag from the cigarette with tears running down her face. 

I must be drunker than I thought because the way I feel about how she looks right now is some sort of sick joke. With tears running down her cheeks because of me, and in sweaty clothes because she hasn’t showered in almost two days, she’s still so goddamn beautiful. What kind of fucked up person am I? 

I feel like a maniac, capable of damaging and finding the aftermath of that damage attractive. Although I’m not entirely sure what part of me holds that attraction. Is it my sex? My heart? Soul? 

We’re so tired, both of us. I feel like it never ends, we write we record we tour then we do it all again. A constant cycle, and neither of us know how to function properly when we are apart and not playing music. Tegan has a bed and some clothes in a house that someone else owns and she calls it home, but what kind of home really is that or any other space for that matter when you’re never there? You know I found a closet in my house before I flew to L.A. a few weeks ago and I didn’t even know existed, yet I’ve been living there for almost two years. That’s so fucked up. 

And you know what else is fucked up? Me trying to act like my home isn’t five feet away from me.   
“Emy’s going to leave me soon.” I speak up, drinking more because we have a day off tomorrow and we’ll arrive in Montreal overnight where I can nurse the oncoming hangover in the comfort of my own home. 

“Why do I care?” She bites back. I figured this was coming. 

“I know you don’t,” I give a sarcastic giggle, too drunk to know what I’m saying. “Just figured I’d share.” 

She rolls her eyes at me, getting off of the leather couch to get a water bottle from the kitchen. “That’s great, Sara. Thanks for sharing,” she mutters, slipping off her black converse shoes with a sigh.

I laugh some more, eyelids weighing heavily on my soul. “Yep, no problem. Hey, Tegan you want to know why she’s leaving me?” I speak loudly to her, the effects of the alcohol giving me courage that I shouldn’t have. I’m just so angry. I hope I push her so far that she hits me. I think I really do want her to hit me with all that she has. Or fuck me, because that’s apparently what we do now. We cut each other down and use sex as the band-aid. 

And it’s like Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, my loving her and the shame I feel for doing so, and the way I can act from one day to the next, letting her know when I find it necessary to love or to hate her. 

“What’s that? You’re on a role, might as well tell me more.” She sighs again, fed up with my bullshit. Well news flash to you Tegan, I’m fed up with me also. Fed up with this band, the touring, the proximity of her, my relationship, the fact that she won’t stop texting her goddamn girlfriend every second of the goddamn day.   
She wipes her eyes, fishing her phone out of her bag, texting Lindsey of course. Maybe I just want her to comfort me, you know? Our maybe I want her to get the fuck away from me and stay wherever she goes.

“Because of you, of course. It’s always you, Tegan. Fuckin’ shit up.” 

And she full-fledge cries at this one, nodding her head and gripping onto the counter of our shitty makeshift kitchen with her head bowed. 

“Fuck you, Sara.” 

I laugh again. “You already said that, didn’t you?” I gulp from the bottle now as the room spins. “And you already did that.” 

“Please stop.” She speaks quietly, reminding me that Ted is in his bunk and within earshot of us, but I don’t really have much care for that either.

“I can handle you being distant. I can handle you being cold and objective. I can even-” She gives her own little laugh, “I’ve even learned to handle your absence. . . but please don’t be mean to me. I’ve done nothing to earn that, and your relationship failing is your own fault.” 

“But is anything ever really my fault?” I counter, suddenly angry and dejected, “Is anything ever really my fault? I’m a twin, I’m not even my own person, remember?”

“No, you’re definitely your own person, I could never hurt you like this.”

“That’s not true.” I burp. “You hurt me in a lot of ways, I just don’t ever talk about them.” 

She jerks her head to the side, meeting my stare and holding it, searching for honesty in me. “How do you expect me to know that I’ve hurt you if you never tell me?” 

And her calmness pisses me off too, the fact that she can love me without wanting to off herself, the fact that she can have a relationship with someone else while my own is falling to pieces. 

“Why would I want to tell you? You’d end up fucking it out of me anyways, eh sis?” 

“Sara, shut the fuck up.” 

Oh good, I hit a nerve. And I’m drunk, so I search for that nerve again. “No, I’m dead serious. You’d probably take advantage of me like you-” I burp again, head spinning at the excitement of us arguing, “-do every time I try to tell you that we shouldn’t fuck each other.” 

“Enough, Sara. Be quiet, you’re so drunk you don’t even know what you’re saying.” She looks towards the back of the bus where Ted is sleeping. 

“Nah, I know what I’m saying. It is because of you, you know? My relationship is failing because I’m too emotionally fucked up in the head because of you.” 

She shakes her head, deciding that she’s had enough of me for tonight when she stands up and turns off the light, but I’m sad that I didn’t piss her off enough to hit me the way I hit her in the kitchen months ago so I push her further, “Sometimes I wish we were never in a band. I could live in Montreal with a normal job and only see you on holidays. Bet you wouldn’t try to fuck me then.”

“Jesus,” She whispers, and I see her recoil at the low blow, and it gives me satisfaction because she feels what I feel—the hurt and the loss. Her hands fly to her eyes to wipe the fresh tears that fall and saturate her shirt.

With a deep breath, those bloodshot eyes turn to look at me through the darkness of the cabin, and through the illumination of the microwave clock and the small nightlight plugged into the outlet above the sink, I see her sadness turn to disappointment. 

“I won’t touch you again, no need to worry about that, Sare. In fact, I won’t even talk to you unless I have to. There, I’ll give you a way out because I’m pretty fucking tired of you asking for one.” 

And I realize that maybe I hurt her really badly because I feel something let go of the pulley that winds the rope between us together, and the pull of the rope between us is broken, falling to the floor beneath our feet, allowing her to push herself away from me. And I do nothing about it but stare at her, I just sit there and stare, drunk and heavy, wordless and frozen. 

“Goodnight, Sara.”


	3. Three

Sara 

A deafening roar hits us as we step under the bright stage lights. I can already feel sweat forming from the overbearing spotlight as I give a gentle wave to the crowd and move closer to my microphone, letting Tegan take the reins while I tune my guitar. 

“What’s going on Vancouver? Is everyone having a good time?” She speaks in her girlish tone with a slight growl. I smile and nod, looking a few feet to my right were my sister stands and introduces us, “We’re Tegan and Sara.” 

The roar intensifies, causing Tegan’s own smile to grow even bigger. I look over to our Mum, standing side stage, away from the prying eyes of our fans in the front row and giving us enthusiastic thumbs up like she used to do when we were children at our piano recitals. 

“We’re gonna play. . .we’re gonna play a few old songs before we get into the new record. Hope you guys don’t mind.” And they don’t, they scream louder. On the count of Ted’s keyboard and a nod from Tegan, we launch into Living Room, collectively one of our favorite songs to play live as a band. I zone out and begin my backing vocals, checking the set list at my feet once more to make sure the next song is Not Tonight so I can be prepared to tune into drop D once the song is finished.

Lately, Tegan and I have been arguing before every show and I find it ironic that the one time we need to be able to work together, cohesively as one, is the time when our pent up aggression is finally allowed to be set free. Today’s argument was brought on by her, pissed off that I didn’t want to start the show with Not Tonight but with Living Room instead. After trying for nearly an hour to explain to her why we should start with something that the crowd is genuinely more responsive to, she finally caved, muttering “whatever, Sara” before switching the songs on our set list with angry marks from a black sharpie. 

Apart from arguing about the band, she doesn’t speak to me. The silence on the bus has been overwhelming and I can’t wait to see Emy tonight. She’ll be meeting up with us after the show for dinner with Mum before we all fly to Ireland tomorrow. I can’t take it anymore; I can’t take the silence, the tension, the hate that pours out of Tegan and smothers me every time we’re next to each other. 

Every night, I fall asleep listening to her cry after she gets off the phone with Lindsey. Every fucking night, she wails into her pillow, and that does damage. Damage I can’t repair because I don’t even fully remember what I did to cause it. I remember us having some stupid argument while I was drunk, and I remember waking up on the couch of the bus still in my show clothes, but I don’t fully know what I said. 

Tegan barely looks at me as we end Living Room and I switch guitars with my guitar tech to start tuning into drop D for Not Tonight. This song was written for Tegan in 2001, a few days before I left for Montreal, and it amazes me now to think that I was ever capable of writing something with Tegan’s insistent screaming and crying. I spent my days packing and arranging my situation in Montreal, while my nights were spent face down in John Irving’s The Hotel New Hampshire, somewhere in the mix of those two I was able to write a few songs. This being the one that made Tegan cry when she heard it, she cried and begged and cried some more, and I think she probably would be crying now if we weren’t in front of 1,100 people. 

Does the tension smother the audience in the same way that it smothers me? 

And so I correct the energy around us at the thought of that, speaking up to the audience once we’re halfway through the show. Tegan and I don’t banter with each other, no. We only address the crowd, getting into a groove between playing music and talking to our adoring fans. It makes them laugh enough to calm my fears about them being disappointed in the show. 

Once we’re off the stage, I breathe, preparing myself for the next bout of anxiety I’ll be thrown into at dinner. I just want to sleep, but if I thought for a second that my mother would allow me to cancel, I would’ve tried it already. So instead, I wordlessly follow Tegan backstage and into the dressing rooms to gather the last of our items, happy that I asked our roadies to go ahead and take most of our things to our hotel room that we’ll all have to share. When I’m reminded of Tegan saying earlier that she would take the sleeper sofa and give Emy and I the queen size bed, my mood lifts slightly, and I think that maybe if I keep my mood lifted, Tegan’s will follow suit. 

I look over to her as she bends down, shoving shoes hastily into her suitcase without a second thought or glance my way. I watch her pack, as if she’s in a room by herself and it slightly infuriates me, just not enough for me to do anything about it. 

There’s a knock at the door and I turn, watching Emy step into our dressing room just as Tegan zips her suitcase. Emy kisses me gently, enough to tell me she cares, but not enough to say she loves me. And I kiss her back the same way, with equal pressure, because I also care but no longer love her. I can almost feel Tegan’s energy turn angry at our kiss as she walks pass us, so instinctually, I reach out to grab her arm and stop her, watching as she stops and turns around to look at me. Angry eyes trace from my eyes to the hand that’s wrapped around her bicep, so I let go and speak up instead, watching her flick her eyes to Emy, annoyed. 

“Hey, Chris told me that Mum is parked in the back of the venue,” I offer in my softest voice. 

She stares at me for a good three seconds, her hazel eyes telling me she isn’t interested in a goddamn thing I have to say and I don’t think I blame her. I don’t get the chance to look at her for long before she turns away and adjusts the beanie on her head. Without as much as a nod, she’s gone and closing the door behind her. 

“Jesus what’s crawled up her ass?” Emy mutters, moving to my own pile of clothes and putting them in my suitcase. I sigh and join her. 

“Me.” 

“Are you guys fighting again?” Emy looks up at me, disappointed. 

Don’t worry, I’m disappointed in me too, Emy. 

“Do we ever stop?” I mutter, throwing a pair of sneakers towards my suitcase. Before she can start to fuss, I throw a hand in the air to silence her, “I really don’t want to talk about it, can we not just enjoy dinner with Mum please?” 

She gives an understanding nod in response, and I realize that I’ve hurt her feelings, too. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, Em. I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on in my head right now and I don’t even know why she’s mad at me.” My fingers pull the zipper of my suitcase closed and I stand, looking over at her disapproving face as she nods, defeated. 

“Sure, Sara.” 

***

And with two women pissed off at me, the number rapidly rises to three once we sit down with Mum in a nice ramen place in the heart of downtown. I groan as my psychologist mother studies us, eyes moving from one tired face to the other. 

“Sara?” Mum speaks up, giving me the look she always gives before telling my sister and I off, “Why are you and Tegan fighting?” 

I look at Tegan first as she rolls her eyes next to Mum, grabbing her menu and lifting it to cover her face from me, then back to Mum, shrugging when my brain comes up empty for an excuse. She shakes her head disapprovingly as I watch my hopes of a nice dinner jump out of the window. Mum’s always hated when we fought, and I think she’s even more surprised at Tegan being the one who’s mad at me when usually it’s the other way around.

“Okay. No answer from Sara, not that I expected one.” I roll my eyes, separating myself from the conversation. “Tegan, you don’t lie well. Why are you and your sister fighting again?”

Gracelessly, she puts her menu down on the table with an exaggerated side eye. “Great question, Mum. Why don’t you ask my sister? Wait. . .” she gives the most annoying attempt at a sarcastic giggle—one of the few things she does that really gets under my skin—then says, “she can’t remember. . .too fucking drunk all the time, ey sis?”

Before Mum can turn back to me with her firing squad of questions and concerns, the waiter steps to our table with a smile. “Welcome, ladies. Do we want to start off with some drinks or are you guys ready to order?” 

He looks to Mum, who asks for a glass of water, on to Tegan, who’s staring at her menu. I fall to pieces at the sight of tears in her eyes. “Give me whatever you have on draft-” her voice cracks, causing my brows to come together in my own personal purgatory at the sight of her breaking. “You know what? I’m not really hungry, I’m going to go back to the hotel and get a room to myself.” She flicks her eyes in my direction as she wipes the moisture from her cheekbones. 

“Tegan, come on-” I protest, nearly standing up until Emy plants a firm hand on my thigh to prevent me from making a scene in the middle of this restaurant. 

“I’m sorry Mum, let’s have breakfast in the morning. Alone.” And with an apologetic kiss to Mum’s cheek and a nod at the waiter, she’s turning towards the door, hands continuously wiping underneath her eyes. 

I feel the entire table sigh with me as I look at my menu, ashamed. 

Mum clears her throat, catching the waiter’s attention. “Actually, can you please change my water to a masu of your sake?”

 

Tegan

I feel my head spin in the darkness of the room when I flop down on my tummy above the comforter. I’m as drunk as a skunk, with my body on pins and needles, and I think I might’ve smoked a joint with someone based on the droopiness of my heavy eyelids and the numbness of my slack limbs. 

I don’t really remember most of the cab ride home from the shitty sports bar I went to after the disastrous dinner and I’m completely unaware of how I got into my hotel room. 

I feel slightly embarrassed at myself because the hotel clerk must’ve known I was utterly fucked up when I ordered the single room. 

My eyes watch the hazy Vancouver sky and I check the clock next to me, green LED lights read 4:42 a.m., and then I’m back to the sky again—in awe of the beauty that is the Vancouver skyline at night. Even through a cloudy hotel window, it reminds me why I moved to this city in the first place. I allow my thoughts to drift in and out, between how much I’ll miss this city and how much I miss Sara, and maybe if I wasn’t so stoned right now I would still be angry, still filled to the brim with the raging emotions that caused me to get like this in the first place. 

I watch my hands, studying the tendons flexing underneath my skin every time I move my fingers, captivated by my own body and the fact that I’m a real person, really here in this moment. 

Well, half of a person. And instead of getting sad at that thought, I miss the other half of me. I miss tracing the the tendons in her hand that bulge out further than my own.

Man, I am really stoned. My body feels suspended in the air and I’m enjoying every second of it. I continue looking out the window, feeling the cottonmouth within my scratchy throat as I swallow. 

I hear a key card slide through my door minutes later, followed by the clicking of it unlocking, but I’m a little too high to care about the intrusion. Honestly, I’m not scared in the slightest because I know it’s Sara. I can feel her, the hair on every inch of my body stands up within her close proximity.   
I listen as she shuts the door, followed by quiet footsteps inching towards the bed and her knees dipping into the space next to me. The sound of shoes hitting the floor and a belt being undone rings through my ears.

And when I hear that, the belt buckle, I turn around to face her, slowly in my high daze. 

“Sara, what are you. . .what are you doing here?” She cups my throat with force, making me look at her. Our faces are inches apart, the strong smell of whiskey tainting her breath. 

She’s drunker than I am, in a darker place than I am, too. 

“Emy and I are fighting,” I watch her mouth move as she exhales, eyes fluttering, fingers tracing my jawline without easing the pressure. We sit like that for a while, breathing in each other’s scents and I find myself turning into an ocean between my thighs from the weight of her body on top of mine and the after effects of the potent marijuana. 

“Emy and I are fighting,” She starts again, surprising me when her hand curls tighter around my neck, cutting off my oxygen supply. “And. . .and for once I’m drunk enough to hate you more than I do myself.” 

She ends her sentence, and I don’t quite know how to comment, so I don’t. Instead, I look at her bitten lips, finding solace in the way she stares at my own, too. 

“Don’t fucking kiss me,” she orders, and her voice cracks as she tightens the grip on my neck. “Don’t say a word or I’ll leave.” And I slowly nod, because the ache between my legs is throbbing and my ability to respect myself in the literal grasp of my strongest vice is unthinkable. She takes advantage of me and I allow it, practically holding the door open for her as her right hand reaches up to feed fingers through my conditioned locks before she pulls backwards with a rough tug, causing my hips to rise. 

There’s a lot of things I would be protesting right now if I was sober, not only the fact that she’s this close to me, exploiting me, but also the fact that I’m on the bottom—which is excruciating, despite the fact that I’m wetter that I’ve ever been in my entire life. I tangle my hand into the cotton of her button up shirt, pulling her to position her jean clad hips in between my legs. 

“So, I figured I might as well come show you. . .show you how much I fucking hate you. . .what you turn me into when you-” She groans, hand reaching for my own in a tight grasp, “when you deprive me like this.” 

There’s a little me that I imagine inside of my brain, the little me that tells the big me to demand respect from everyone, including Sara and her wicked ways. And that little me has her head in her hands, shaking back and forth and dropped in disappointment. I don’t worry about that, though. I choose to focus on my hand trailing down her stomach to an obvious bulge in her jeans, making me want to cry when her fingers curl behind mine, forcing me to grab onto her as if I need it. 

“I want to hurt you,” She whispers, breathing such strong notes of sweet whiskey breath into my face, “I’m going to hurt you, don’t say a word or I will leave you.” 

It’s demented, malicious, and the irony is everything sinister because that’s all she ever does—hurt me. She gives me a little, all the while she’s pushing the knife further into the space underneath my ribs. She hurts me and dares me to say anything, dares me to talk back or challenge her. But I let her,  
and I guess I’ll let her again because when her grip squeezes tighter and she thrusts her hips into me, I feel my needy core contract uncontrollably. 

I reach down to work her belt out of their loops and undo her button and zipper while she strips me bare. Her hands move to her own waist after my underwear is kicked off, and she pulls her blue jeans and underwear just barely beneath the crease of her ass. Four fingers coming up to her mouth through the pale moonlight and I watch her tongue slightly lubricate them before she pumps her hand down the shaft to transfer the wetness. I need to tell her that I’ve never done this before and she needs to prepare me a little more than that somehow and to go as slow as possible, but I know that she’s serious when she tells me she’ll leave if I talk. So I pray instead that she’ll give it to me easy, knowing fully well that she won’t. 

And she doesn’t, choosing to line herself up to my entrance and bottom out in one thrust with a breath and an arch of her hips. The pained groan that breaks from my lungs and out of my mouth is embarrassing, loud enough to echo within the four walls of my hotel room, yet I feel no ounce of pity for the neighbors. She presses in to the hilt, making me realize just how goddamn thick and intrusive her attachment is as I’m stretched so far open that my thighs shake, causing me to wrap them around her waist to steady myself. 

She rests her forehead on my collarbone and pulls out, slowly, with my fingers gripping onto the baby hairs at the nape of her neck and my other hand grasping onto her shoulder. My walls cling to her desperately, on fire and begging her not to leave. So she doesn’t, not fully, instead she pulls out to the tip and lifts herself up on one hand, the other still wrapped around the part of my neck directly beneath my jawline. 

The resistance she is met with when she pushes back in draws moans from both of us, although I try to keep quiet. I try so hard to follow her orders and not say a word, but she slams her hips back into me and it’s excruciating so I scream out behind closed lips, eyelids shutting tightly. This encourages a drunk Sara, the pain and pleasure that she knows I’m feeling, so she does it again. 

“Fuck, Tegan,” I hear her whisper, raspy and next to my ear, filling my senses with the whiskey notes again. 

And finally her lips are on mine, unable to resist it any longer, I think maybe it was to quiet my screams as well. Our tongues clash and circle around each other, making me dizzy and even more intoxicated than I already am. The sound of skin meeting skin fades into my ear drums, coming from her hips meeting mine as she picks up the pace. I pool at the visual of her back curling, thrusting, encouraging me to spread my legs wider. She’s taking me deeper than she was before, deeper than I’ve ever allowed anyone to reach, because she owns that part of me. 

Eventually, the pain fades away, turning into sheer pleasure. Intense and encompassing pleasure, that kind that throws my muscles into a frenzy and forces my head back against the pillow, frozen in bliss. 

She coaxes the climax from my depths, and pulls out when she feels it approaching through the choppy inhales being pulled through my lips. My eyes shoot open in pain and surprise at her merciless thrusts, and suddenly her hands are pulling my legs up and around her small shoulders. 

I glance down, watching her hand lower to where her hips and ass are exposed between her clothes as she grips herself again and takes no time at all lining herself up with me to slam back in, fingers moving back to my throat and ripping a pained moan from me that causes the curves of her beautiful lips to tremor as they fall open at my reaction. I grip onto her thighs when she begins ramming into me, so hard and so fast, and I give myself over to her with every clench and every bead of sweat that pours from my skin.

My orgasm hits me like a train, eyes watching her like a hawk with my face contorted so she can see me raw and pleading, telling her to keep the violent pace because I don’t remember my body ever feeling like this—suspended in the air and brutally shaking from ecstasy. She watches me through the fringe hanging off of her forehead, eyes low and calculating like I’m her prey because I am when she is fucking me so ardently. I ride out the tremors, practically in her lap at this point, with the only the sound of our gasping filling the space between us.

The high has officially worn off, leaving me to sit in shame with the comprehension and aftermath of our actions. I can visibly see it hit Sara too as she leans over after I’m spent, placing an unemotional kiss to my open mouth and giving me a certain lack of satisfaction in my gut that breaks the levee holding back the flood behind my eyes. 

I begin to weep, unabashedly. Not for the excruciating pain that rips through my core as she pulls out and tucks her extension back into her jeans, not for the way she leaves my room wordlessly after throwing her shoes on, or the weight of the world she’s placed on my shoulders.   
I cry, because even after all of that, I still love her. 

*** 

Sara throws her dressing room suitcase on the floor backstage and I stand by, watching the lines of her spine show through her thin black shirt as she bends over to unzip it. 

I feel like I’ve been crying since yesterday. I cried through Mum and I’s entire breakfast, unable to tell her why. Every time she shook her head in shame over her coffee, I felt responsible for her pain. Eventually, she quit crying and held me, which I really needed from her, but only made me cry more. After last night’s tryst, I can barely sit down, the pain in my lower regions is almost unbearable. I cried some more on the plane ride to Ireland, watching Sara become angrier and angrier with every tear shed. I kept crying once we landed and got to our tour bus and I surely cried myself to sleep in the privacy of my bunk. I think the tears finally began to dry once we were nearing time for the show, knowing that I’ll have to put on a strong front until I’m back on the bus, alone, to cry again. 

I wonder what she thinks of herself? I wonder if she feels remorse or if she even remembers the reasons why I can’t stop crying, but I don’t think I could manage to hear the wrong answers right now. 

I watch Emy sit back on the couch and put her headphones in, she’s been unusually quiet since we boarded yesterday morning and she’s barely said a word the entire day. I throw my hair into a loose ponytail and nod at whatever tour talk Piers is giving from the open door of the room, not giving much attention to anything he is saying. He takes note my withdrawn behavior and closes the door without a word. I can practically cut the tension in the air with the knife, hating that Sara and I’s debauchery can bring an entire mood shift to our entire crew. Although I’d like to think that if they really knew everything, the reasons behind our anger, then maybe they could understand that we’re suffocating. 

“Are you coming to the show?” Sara speaks so softly that I can barely hear it and I look up from my suitcase to see that she’s talking to her girlfriend. 

“No.” Emy cuts into the air without looking up from her cellphone. I watch Sara visibly recoil, wondering what in the absolute hell Sara could’ve done to make Emy angry. 

Emy is never angry. She’s so gentle it pisses me off sometimes. 

“Emy come on-” Sara starts, but I interject with humor because that’s the only thing I know to do to try to diffuse their arguing. “Wow, Sasa. Must’ve really fucked up, eh? Emy is never angry at you.” 

And it took about three seconds for me to realize what I said was the wrong thing because they both look at me with incredulous wide eyes. 

“Why don’t you shut your fuckin’ mouth-” Sara’s voice is just above a whisper, heavy Canadian accent subtly pleading with me to not tread in uncharted territory.

“No,” Emy smiles facetiously, moisture rising on the rim of her blue eyes. “Go ahead, Sasa. Tell her what’s going on, tell her why I’m angry.” 

Sara pleads at Emy, begging her to not take it any further. I stare at them awkwardly, having never been put into the odd situation of mediating my sister and her girlfriend’s arguments. With a sigh and a glance at the clock above Emy’s head, I see that we only have thirty minutes until we’re on. That gives me ample time to talk Emy through whatever she’s dealing with, whatever Sara has fucked up now. 

I feel you, Emy. 

With another deep sigh, I stand from my crouched position and walk over to the chair that has my name on it, next to the counter where other artists usually apply their makeup. I flop down in the chair, forgetting the state of my lower extremities for one fleeting second. 

The audible groan and wince that I give doesn’t go unnoticed. I can’t tell who the gasp comes from, but it makes me turn towards the pair with a sharp whip of my neck. 

Time seems to freeze. It takes me less than three seconds to understand the reason for Emy’s gasp. And the only thing I can do is stand there, praying to the god I don’t believe in that she talks herself out of what she just saw and what her intuition is obviously telling her. A goddamn woman. Only a goddamn woman could get caught up in such a mess and have the wherewithal to process it within seconds. I feel the rise of bile begin, but this time it’s real and not figurative, and I think if she says a word I’ll probably be bent over a trash can. She looks at me and the redness on my chest that I couldn’t control if I wanted to, and she looks at me, through me, and I can tell she’s not really focusing on me. She’s too deep into thought. 

This is my worst nightmare, my absolute no-doubt about it worst fucking nightmare. Beyond the anxiety dreams of being naked on stage, beyond the fears of Sara leaving me, the only thing that could possibly be worse than this is if Emy was my Mum. This is grounds for death, because I haven’t thought this far ahead, you know? I haven’t imagined this situation ever coming true. Sara and I are so careful. We’ve always been so careful. And if I didn’t even get that far into it, far enough to fathom the possibility of this moment, how in the hell could I have planned my way out of it? 

My mouth drops open a little as we sit there, Sara and I both watch Emy, who only watches me. She blinks and looks back at her phone, hands shaking as she flicks it around and around between her fingers. That shaky hand moves to her bottom lip where she rubs the skin there, though she doesn’t look me in the eyes. 

“Tegan,” She speaks, voice slightly cracking. “Did you- did have sex last. . .uh, last night? I noticed, um. . .I noticed you seemed to have a little. . .trouble sitting down?” 

I sit with her question for a minute. 

Okay so, Mum was right when she said that I can’t lie well. Especially to Emy. She’s been close to me for eight years now. If I say yes, she will tell Lindsey. If I say no, she will know that I’m lying, and immediately know the truth or at least be suspicious because she’s a woman and women get it like that. 

So without a second doubt, I say, “I did uh. . .I did actually, Em.”   
Sara gapes at me, eyes bucking as she audibly swallows the lump in her throat, and I can feel her asking me what in the hell am I thinking and I can feel her begging me within my soul, begging me to find a way out of this. And I think she might end her life if I don’t. 

Emy doesn’t miss a beat, does even blink when she asks too quietly, “With who? Who was it that you cheated on Lindsey with?” But I can tell that the cheating part doesn’t bother her, it’s not what she’s interested in, which tells me she’s past the point of giving a fuck that I cheated and already onto assumptions that will collectively end Sara and I’s lives and career, all at once. 

I feel the bile rise in my throat and my cheeks burn though I shake my head and begin lying the best that I can, “A girl I picked up at the club,” I laugh, “You wouldn’t know her.” 

She doesn’t laugh with me, “Oh yeah? Cool.” Her eyes turn to Sara and she presses on, “What time. . .what time did you she leave your place?” Her glare whips back to me. “I didn’t see anyone come out of your hotel with you this morning.” 

I swallow and calculate, having no other choice but to say, “Oh, she left in the middle of the night. I told her I had an early flight.” I smile, nervous and moving my hand to brush my fringe to the side and collect the sweat that’s pooling on my temples. 

Emy doesn’t break her stare, reading my face and the way I lick my lips. 

We hear Piers knock at the door and yell, “ten more minutes, girls” to us before his footsteps fade into the distance.

“What time, Tegan?” Eyes squinting slightly, accusing. I see the water rise in her ears. “I laid in bed awake all night last night-” My eyes, tormented, watching the streaks stain her cheekbones, realizing the strain on her and Sara’s relationship is coming from her knowing her life partner has been unfaithful. “-I didn’t even go to sleep until Sara was back from fucking someone with the strap on she’s been using on me for years.”

My heart breaks at the horrid information I’ve learned, I feel filthy from the inside out. She used that on me? Theirs? She used theirs on me? The bile hits my throat and it takes the will of God to keep that down because there’d be no way of explaining my way out of that. I can’t look at Sara, I’d surely vomit if I glanced her way.

“I guess it would’ve been around five o’clock, Em.” I laugh apprehensively, watching her as if I don’t understand why she’s doing all of this. She looks at Sara with beseeching eyes and disgusted apprehension. Telling me that my words have rightfully sealed Sara and I’s fate.

And before I have time to react or find a trash can, Emy’s face is screwing up in a fit of sobs and I feel Sara’s fist connecting to my face in a sickening crack, hard enough for me to cry out and rush my left hand to my nose. 

“You motherfucker! I’m going to fucking- why couldn’t you just keep your fucking mouth shut!”

Blood covers my nose and mouth and runs down onto the collar of my shirt. It’s pouring but I have no time to think or vomit. My bloodied hand reacts out instinctually to block the abuse before I rear back and take powerful violent smacks to her cheekbones. 

Once.

Twice, twice as hard.

And my hands wrap around her throat and squeeze just as hard as she squeezed mines last night, slamming her to the carpeted ground, her eyes as wide and as brown as a lake while my blood drips onto her chin. It’s all so fast, I hear Emy screaming at us to stop as I feel Sara’s shoe connect with my knee cap, sending me to the ground beside her with a disgruntled yell. She kicks me so hard it causes me to release my grip to her neck. Emy sobs louder at the punches we throw between the two of us, putrid slurs and curse words emptying our mouths and I land one more square to her face before strong hands are hooking under my arms and dragging me off of her. 

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You used. . .you. . .on me, Sara-” I sob underneath Ted’s grasp as he backs me up into a corner, disregarding anything and everything she has to say. “You did this to yourself. . .Sara, you. . .how could you?” And before I can form a coherent sentence, I feel the vomit in my mouth and my eyes water. I’m bent over the nearest trash can and out of Ted’s grip within seconds, spilling my guts with an unbridled string of cries. I think I want to die as I wipe my mouth and the blood that’s still slowly dripping off of my face with the same hand I used to damage her. 

Sara’s gasps from her place on the floor hits my ears before anyone else’s. “Ted-” I groan at the next wave of nausea, grasping towards our guitar player. “Sara, she needs. . .her puffer. . .my suitcase, front pocket.” The vomit comes up again as I grip the edge of the trash can, listening to Ted hurriedly unzip the pocket while the intrinsic worry fills my blood at the cry of her lungs. Moments later, I hear the medicine being pushed between her lips and I sigh, sitting back on my feet to wipe more blood from my face. He pushes the pressurized inhaler once more and the sound of air reaching deep into her lungs causes me to hang my head in relief. 

“Tegan, why is there blood on your. . . oh my God, Sara. . .what the fuck is going on here? You guys have to be on stage in two minutes.” Nick panics, as a wet towel is pushed against my face and my head is forced backwards. 

“Cancel the show,” I groan, feeling my head spin at the feeling of Piers tilting me backwards. Internally, I thank him—if I keep bleeding I’m sure to pass out. 

“Absolutely not,” Nick spits, and I glance over to him, his fingers dialing a number into his phone. “You have two thousand fans waiting on you in the venue. Absolutely not.” 

“Cancel the fucking show, Nick!” I bark back, not in the mood to deal with his shit. He continues talking to whoever is on the phone. 

“No,” Sara coughs out from behind me and Piers, and I roll my eyes at the admonition.

“Hey girls!” I hear Neil Young’s thick Canadian accent come through the speaker of Nick’s Blackberry, springing my eyes wide as they lock with Nick’s as if to say, “Fuck.” 

Oh God. Our career is over. He’s going to drop us. He’s going to drop us and Emy will tell everyone and where will I go from there?

“I heard you two have had a bit of a tussle over there from what Nick is telling me. It happens and we’ll get it sorted out so don’t worry.” Nick scoffs, hands rubbing his eye sockets in disbelief as he shakes his head at his head boss. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I think you both are tired, eh? And it’s okay to be tired. Let’s go ahead and get you cleaned up to play this show, and we’ll cancel the last three shows. Everyone go back home for a week or two before we come back and play the last three cities. Does that sound good to the both of you?” 

And we both give quiet ‘yes sirs’, undoubtedly ashamed of our childish actions, although we both know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer anyways. 

“Good! Well then. . .Nick, Piers, I hope the two of you already have a medic on the way. If Tegan’s nose is broken then we will have to cancel this show as well.” 

“Yes sir, we’ve called a medic.” Nick speaks out, voice defeated. 

“Okay. They’ll fly home tomorrow morning, I hope that’s understood. Everyone have a nice night and girls, you have to find a way to communicate and respect each other before it get to this point.” 

And although he doesn’t understand, we accept his concern with appreciation, bidding him goodbye and thank you. The fair-haired medic arrives shortly after, taking over for Piers and examining my nose that has stopped bleeding. She confirms that it isn’t broken as Piers cleans the blood off of my neck, chin, and hands. After Sara’s examination, which will apparently be no worse than a few nasty bruises and the cleaning up of bloodied hand prints and smears across Sara’s face, the medic leaves. Opening the void of uncomfortable silence as Ted, Nick, and Piers all look down at us. Arms crossed above us from our positions on the floor. I hear Sara start to cry, splitting me in two.

In her defense, I speak up, “Can you guys give us ten minutes? We’ll be on stage in ten minutes, that’s all I ask.” 

They oblige, shaking their heads and walking out of the dressing room with Nick muttering something along the lines of “forty fucking minutes late, unbelievable” on his way out. 

I hesitantly turn towards my twin, completely unprepared and uneducated on how exactly it is that we are going to fix this. She isn’t looking at me, though. Her hazel eyes lay heavily on Emy, coated with uncontainable fear and desperation. And I’m afraid too, albeit being the one who got us in this mess, Sara and I will go down together if we go down at all, and that alone is not up to me or Sara entirely. 

Emy’s hands cover her red face as she leans over, her knees to elbows, sniffling her tears back. 

The quiet in the atmosphere does nothing for my nerves but heighten them—because what does it mean? Will she snap, hit me? Will she freak out and call us disgusting freaks and tell the entire world of Sara and I’s perverted relationship? Promptly ruining our career and possibly our lives—because we both know Sara wouldn’t handle that well. 

“Just go play your show, Sara.” Emy’s admonition into the still of the air is nearly silent and weighed down with a multitude of emotions she doesn’t know how to handle, which in and of itself is completely excusable because, who the fuck would? And despite the wretchedness of it all, deep down inside of me there is such an incredible sense of relief that she hasn’t freaked out yet. Which is probably a good sign. 

I watch the way that Sara’s brows come together, rejected and conflicted in what she wants to do. Her hand reaches for Emy’s leg, but it is instantly retracted as Emy backpedals, jerking her leg to the side before Sara could get within two inches of her. I sit there, straight faced and watching from the sidelines. What was there left to do? I can’t begin to envision a way out of this, and I know Sara feels the same as her face shows the heartbreak.

“Don’t,” She spews venom. “We will discuss this later. Just go play the goddamn show, Sara. I can’t even fucking think right now.”

And I watch as Sara concedes wordlessly, sitting back on her hind legs and moving to stand up with an ache of sore bones. 

She stops in-front of me so I have to look up at her and her lifeless eyes, nearly catching the slightest hint of surprise and guilt at the bruises that cover my nose, but that solemness quickly fades to the look I am well acquainted in when it comes to Sara. Anger. 

I watch pity leave her, running out of the door in the opposite direction, as rage seeps into her bones. But I beat her to it, and I feel myself stand tall, inches away from the reflection of myself in front of me. It’s not that I’m defeated, because I’m not truthfully. You can’t necessarily defeat something that is inside of you, belonging to you, yours for the keeping regardless of how fucking demented that thing might be. 

Instead, I let it go. I sever the pull, the only thing keeping the unified devotion between us together and simultaneously giving her the exact thing she wished for a week ago on the road. 

“After we uh,” my jaw tightens at the revelation and the empty look in her face, “After we play those shows, Sara. I think I’m done. I don’t think I have it left in me to do this anymore.” 

And she inhales, sharper than the blade she’s put in my chest, turning quickly towards and out of the door before giving me the benefit of seeing what I just did to her. I feel the rope between us burn, turning itself into ashes and dust beneath my rib cage. 

My gaze falls on Emy, regarding her broken figure from where she sits a few feet away from me, head still in her hands as the tears succumb to the weight of gravity. My mouth salivates from the unspoken revelation that I wish I could tell her, the explanations I wish I could give. But that isn’t my place right now. I’m grown enough to know that if she seeks answers, Sara should be the one to give them to her. 

“I know it isn’t, um. . .I know it probably isn’t what you care to. . .” I trail off, struggling because she doesn’t look up at me which makes me feel like even more of a stranger in my own body. “I don’t know how to tell you I’m sorry without telling you everything that has to come with that apology. I’m going to let you decide that, if you even want anything from me anymore.” 

I receive a nod in return, encouraging me to continue, making me wonder why she wasn’t telling me to go fuck myself and holding on to the hopes that somehow she understands that her heart isn’t the only heart in this room that’s been broken and ripped into a trillion pieces. 

“All I can say is. . .I’m being completely honest to you, which I know doesn’t hold much weight right now, but if I could have chosen as a child not to. . .not to feel like that, I would have given. . .anything. I would have given anything to, to not feel. . .fuck-” Tears stream down my face in embarrassment and heart ache, so I wipe them with turbulent hands. “Jesus, Em,” I mutter, not knowing where to continue or what I’m even trying to say or beg from her. 

“If you ever have questions about. . .about everything or want an apology, I will give it to you. And you can fly home whenever you want, just use the label card.” 

The same small nod is repeated, and I can tell the one sided conversation is over for us, leaving me more helpless and defeated than I was when I began. And I think it might have been better to keep my mouth shut.

My shaky hands reach for my in-ears and belt clip from the desk beside the couch, grabbing the set of black cords labelled ‘Tegan’ in Sara’s messy handwriting and a new black long-sleeve shirt from my unzipped suitcase. With a clip of the small hard plastic and a fresh top, I will away the tears long enough to get through the show and step out of the dressing room to meet Sara backstage. 

*** 

The phone rings four times in my shaking hand before she answers, voice low and cracking through her being woken from slumber in the middle of the night, “Hello? Tegan? What’s wrong, baby?” 

My god, I cry so hard and so loud that I can barely breathe. Clutching the shirt off of my chest and begging, pleading with her to come get me from this hotel and close the wound and keep me from doing the haunting things I dream of doing. She rushes around in a panic, like Mum’s do at the sound and sight of their children in trouble, and I can hear the clicking of her nails against a keyboard. 

“Hold on for me, darling. . .I’m getting you a flight home. Just hold on.” And her fingers keep clicking away, pulling me one step closer to salvation. I cry, and cry, and cry and she coos for me to calm down in the way that only my mother can do. 

“Where are you, Tee?” She inquires, “Are you still in the UK?” and I nod in response, barking out a “yes” when I remember that she can’t see me through the phone. 

“I’m in Glasgow, I-” 

“You’re still in Scotland, Tegan? Why? You guys’ were supposed to be in Glasgow four days ago? What the hell is-” 

“Mum, please,” I weep so hard my vocal cords strain, causing me to cough so hard I gag, “Sara, she. . .” But I can’t continue the explanation, which only makes me cry harder. 

“Okay, okay Tee.” She sighs, but I can tell she’s pissed and I fully prepare for the onslaught of questions I’ll have to answer when I see her. “You board at eleven o’clock. You’re coming home and you’re going to stay with me until this gets handled, and I don’t want to hear any bitching about it. Not a single word. You guys are nearly thirty years old, this has to stop.” And her words make the tears lessen from the relief of her loving me enough to take care of me, even if just for a little while. 

“I love you, Mum,” I whisper into the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose and pressing my head further into the hard pillow as the sun shines through the pale curtains. 

“I love you too, Tegan. . .but. . .well, I guess I shouldn’t say that. It just breaks my heart to see you two at each other like this, I’m putting my foot down. I’ll be there to pick you up when you land, I’m emailing your boarding pass now.” 

I tell her goodbye and curl into myself to shield myself from the cold air of the room, noticing that the clock reads 9:15 a.m., allowing me such little time to lay here before I have to walk a few blocks down the street to the small airport. 

I turn on my back and stare at the patterns I’ve memorized into the textured ceiling. I’ve been in this bed for three days, drinking myself into a deep depression and worrying Lindsey to death. I don’t know where Sara is or if she’s went home, if she’s still here, but I don’t want to care about that either. If she loved me, she’d be next to me, she wouldn’t have ran. She would have stayed when the boys flew home with Emy, she would have stayed and watched as the dark hues on my nose faded to purple, then to the off-yellow color they are now. 

Sara’s a master of that, though. Running from everything. And I think I might have given her a slice of relief through ending the band—the thing we’ve spent our life working on. Together. But together just isn’t cutting it lately. She has destroyed me from the inside out, like I knew that she would. She opened me up and exposed my insides and destroyed what she found there. I find that so ironic, destroying something that was made for you. 

The callousness of it, her hard heart and lack of compassion, it’s all so fucking ironic. 

I bathe myself in the seedy hotel shower under the stream of cold water, taking my toiletries with me when I exit the bathroom so they can be packed up. My fingers type a message out to Lindsey, letting her know that I’m finally coming home and that she can come to Vancouver if she wants. She responds almost immediately with ‘Okay, baby. I’ll see you in a few days. Text me when you land, please’. 

The shower cleared my head and woke me up enough to give me the energy to throw my dirty laundry into my bag and win the fight with the zipper. But the clarity leaves almost as soon as it arrives as I step out into the blazing morning sun of the Scottish summer, beginning my trek towards the airport and cussing the heat.

***

My heavy feet carry me through the terminal almost an entire day later, I can barely keep my eyes open. I haven’t slept in nearly three days, and because my flight was a red-eye, I’ve had three connecting flights that had lengthy layovers attached to them. With each layover spanning nearly four hours and the stimulation of being in multiple different airports, I couldn’t close an eyelids. I push my body harder, fighting to not pass out before I get to baggage claim where I know Mum is waiting. The bricks attached to my feet grow heavier with every ounce of energy I’m exerting, I will it away though. Just a few more steps. Just a few more steps. 

I find Mum in the crowd once I’m down the escalator, carrying myself a little further until I’m standing in front of her and the black dots start to blur my vision. I see her face turn red in anger when she sees the left over hues of yellow staining my nose and left cheekbone, I find myself unable to respond when she speaks, unnerved by the visible wounds and unknowing of the ones that aren’t visible–the ones that look much worse. I watch her mouth open as she speaks, but my eardrums don’t carry the sound to my brain. 

“Did your sister do this to you, Tegan?” 

I read her lips and I’m falling, collapsing from my knees to the floor with a thud as she wraps her hand around the back of my neck before thick blackness coats my eyes. 

*** 

“Get your ass on a plane and over here now, Sara!” I groan when the migraine slams into my head like a face-on collision and the voices above me wake me from my slumber. My eyes adjust to the small night light illuminating the room from the wall adjacent to me. I’m in my old room at home in the suite of Mum’s basement, but the smell is different. It smells like food that I assume is being cooked in the oven upstairs. 

“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing or who’s shit you’re packing up!” She screams, and Mum never screams, ever. But she’s screaming now and a small part of me is happy that Sara is getting chewed out, while the other part of me suffers from the knowledge that Mum is trying to force her to come to Vancouver. I don’t particularly want to be around her. Truthfully ever, if I can help it. My head reels at the ‘who’s shit your packing up’ statement. Is she packing her own shit? Is she moving? Or is it Emy’s shit? 

“If you aren’t here within the next two days, explaining to me why I picked your sister up from the airport today with bruises on her face. . .I will come get you and bring you here myself and that is a promise, God as my witness, Sara.” 

I hear fussing from the other end of the line, sifting through the thin walls of our childhood home, telling me that Sara isn’t going down without a fight. 

“Glasgow! Sara! She was still in fucking Glasgow!” I wince at the volume, forgetting that Mum’s voice can be shrill when she’s this angry. I sort of feel bad for Sara, she isn’t typically one to stand up to Mum or take the blunt end of Mum’s anger when we pissed her off, that was always me. I was always the one to take the blame so Sara didn’t have to.

“I don’t care about who’s fault it is or what bullshit reasoning you can come up with. Both of you have been lying to me yet neither of you can take responsibility for your own actions! You two are nearly thirty years old for Christ’s sake!” 

My eyebrows pull together at the harsh truth, but I keep quiet in my own enjoyment, trying to hear Sara’s response to no avail.   
“I’m not asking questions until both of you are in front of me, and there’s no evading the answers this time, Sara. You guys are going to sit here and fix this and then you both are getting therapists. Everyone around you two are sick of your shit, it’s not just me.” 

Mum sighs, and I wonder if that means Sara has agreed to come. I huff and swing my legs over the side of my full sized mattress, finding a pair of flannel pajama pants from my old dresser and pulling them over my hips. My socked feet carry me up the stairs, preparing myself with the possibility of my mother being in a bad mood. And although I’m twenty-seven, it still brings the nerves to shore to know that I’m part of the reason for her distress.

My answer is confirmed as Mum sighs again, carrying the weight of relief and pain in her voice as she ends the conversation, “Okay. . .I’ll see you in the morning. I love you, Sara.” 

The landline is clicked off as I round the corner into the kitchen where my stomach beckons me from the smell of food. Mum comes into view, leaning over the granite island with her chin in her hands with closed eyes and tears staining her cheekbones. I’m so tired of tears… everyone I love seems to be crying. 

“Hey, Mum,” I whisper, pulling out a stool beside the island and sitting across from her. She jerks her red cotton blouse to her eyes and dries the overflow, never being one to enjoy anyone watching her cry. My heart aches, and I wonder how much more aching it can manage before it shuts down completely. 

“Hey, Tee. Did you rest well? Here, have some food it’s-”

“Mum, don’t cry-” 

“I made your favorite, green bean casserole like Grandma used to make-” And she turns to the oven with her face contorting, weeping for the forever damaged relationship between her daughters and the fact that food isn’t seeming to fix it this time. 

“Mum, please-” I begin to cry, too. But silently, and not because no one, not even Grandma, can make green bean casserole like Sara. I cry because of the detriment of Sara and I’s relationship, I think sometimes she and I are selfish—always forgetting that we aren’t the only ones getting wounded in each other’s line of fire. 

She pulls out the casserole with her hands stuck in warm oven mitts, looking at me with swollen and puffy eyes as she grabs two plates and a fork. Her upper arm moves to wipe her cheeks again, putting a more than generous serving on what I assume is my plate. But I’m broken down once she puts it in front of me, weeping loudly and leaving her with the only option of taking me into her arms, so she does, holding me and pressing my head into her chest like I’m fifteen again. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Mum coos, voice soft and therapeutic, “It’s okay.” But I only cry harder, face twisted in pain because I’m being held and heart twisted in pain because it isn’t Sara who’s holding me. 

I’ve never quite experienced heartbreak like this. 

Loving Sara was always fire, blazing in my soul. The hole in my chest was always up in flames, always burning, always heated down in my depths.   
This is cold and forlorn, I’m empty. I feel like something has been ripped from me. The sickest homesickness you’ve ever felt, multiplied by a thousand. 

“It hurts so bad, Mum, I-” I weep into her shoulder as my shoulders shake violently. “I can’t believe she’s hurt me like this, I hate her-”   
“You don’t hate her, Tee. . .don’t say that. You two love each other.” 

But she doesn’t understand and hopefully she never will, so I just nod my head in response. Choosing to cry the rest of my tears in silence with my hands clasped onto her shirt. 

“She will be here tomorrow and we’re going to try and fix this, then you two need to see therapists and get some space from each other for a while.” And I cringe at that, space never being the option I’d take when it comes to Sara. “I think you and Sara have too much on your plates to not talk to anyone in private and without judgment, you need to at least try it.” 

I nod again, not wanting to object to her wishes. I wish I could trust Sara enough to want to try, but I don’t. I’m not a fool, and Sara has patterns that I don’t want to be involved in anymore. Maybe this will be good for us, it’s what Sara wanted after all, to have a normal job and only see me on holidays, fuck-

I cry harder, remembering the way those words resonated with me when she said them. 

But it is, you know? It’s what she wants, so she has it now. She won, I gave up and lost every ounce of trust, and I truthfully think this is what we need. I think she was right. We obviously can’t go on anymore, loving each other, loving her in the way that I do. 

I cry for what I’ve lost, for the pull that exists no more between us. I cry for all that she’s put me through. I cry the pain from her words out of my system. I cry from the trust that she has broken. I cry because I’ll get holidays to love her and smell her, to need her. Instead of the near 240 days I have been able to share next to her for the last nine years. I cry for wondering if someone is doing the same thing for her that Mum is doing for me, if Emy is holding her in their kitchen. I cry because Emy knows and what will I do with the knowledge of her knowing? The answer is beyond me.   
I cry it out in that kitchen, on Mum’s chest. I cry until there’s nothing left but hiccups and she holds me silently through those too. 

Eventually it all comes to an end and I lean off of her chest and out of her arms, embarrassed at the sizeable wet stain on the cotton fabric. She studies the bruises with untouchable sadness clouding her eyes. 

“She has never left marks on you like this. What did you do, Tee?” 

The fork stabs into the casserole, bringing it to my mouth slowly. I whisper my response, voice hoarse from the sobbing, as I search for the right words. 

“I got too close.”


	4. Four

Sitting with my back against the couch in Mum's living room, I nurse a half-empty beer in my left hand while anxiously waiting for Mum and Sara to return from the airport. It's quiet, much too quiet for my liking, and I wonder how long I can sit here before I drive myself completely crazy. I want to run away and avoid the conversation that is about to take place. I want to run from the issues that I know I will have to finally face being in Sara's proximity again, but mostly, I want to run away from myself. 

My body is covered in a light sheen of sweat underneath my jean button-down and despite how hard I try—I just can't seem to keep my hands from shaking. My distrust for Sara continues to grow with every passing minute, almost as much as my yearning for her, albeit I'm not sure whether I doubt her or miss her more. All I know is that everything aches and the bile in my tummy refuses to settle.

I hear Mum's car pull up and park in the driveway a few minutes later, followed by the sound of two doors shutting. At the sound of sluggish footsteps approaching, my fight or flight response soars to a panicked level. Why did I agree to this? Why did I think that this would be a good idea? I could have stayed in Scotland. I could have called Lindsey instead of Mum for help. I could have sucked it up and enjoyed my two week vacation away from tour life and Sara. Anything would have been better than this. And deep down, subconsciously, I knew that this would happen. I knew that Mum would demand that we do this. And maybe it was coming from a selfish part of me—the need for someone else to fix my problems with my sister—that provoked me to pick up the phone during my panic attack that night and call our mother. God knows I've tried everything and failed, unsuccessfully.

I don't have much time to conjure a plan or resolution before the front door is opening and suddenly the collar of my shirt seems two sizes smaller, and although I don't look in her direction as she steps into the house and places her luggage on the ground, I can feel her nervous energy and that’s enough to take my breath away.

“We stopped for some takeout on our way back from the airport, Tegan. I figured it would be best if we went ahead and got this over with, so we can talk while we eat if you’re okay with that.” I hear Mum say loudly as she walks to the kitchen with the bags of takeout. 

“That’s fine, Mum.”

I allow myself to look at her, catching her sneaking glances in my direction. She has a new haircut, it's neatly shaved in the back with the same chestnut fringe and I can't help but to think that she is beautiful. Not that a haircut will ever be able to change that or be the only deciding factor. She watches me, studying my face for the damage that she has done and the reminiscent yellow hues beneath my eyelids. Upon finding that the majority of the bruising has faded back into my skin, she turns away, picking up her luggage and dragging it into the kitchen where I assume Mum is fixing our plates. I feel no emotion between our locked eyes, and for the first time in my entire life I regard her with the strongest steel walls built around my heart. I don't know how to feel about that either, it's such a foreign concept to look at her and feel absolutely nothing but loathing and mistrust. 

But that's what I feel, so I guess I'll have to roll with it. It's not like I could believe for a second that she expects me to run back into her arms after what transpired between us, after I single-handedly shut down our career without even making a full sentence. And I find it so oddly ironic that after canceling the band I have found more subject matter and been able to write more songs than I think I've ever been able to do in my entire life.

I wonder if it's the same for her. I wonder if she's writing too, if the detriment has been her muse in the same way that it has been mine. 

Sara comes back into the living room first with her box of take out. Mum follows behind, hot on her heels with two plates and chopsticks in her hand, handing a plate and set to me. They sit on the couch in front of my feet, inches apart, and the tension is so palpable I can taste it. 

God, I despise this with every inch of my body and soul. 

“So?” I speak up, unable to contain the word vomit in our awkward situation. Not realizing that putting attention on the awkwardness does nothing but make it worse. 

Mum sighs at my already sour mood and moves her plate to the armrest of the couch. 

“Sara,” Mom looks to my twin, “want to tell me why Tegan was still in Glasgow?” 

Sara’s eyes look over to me. She seems so out of place and foreign in this house with us right now. 

“I’m assuming she stayed there after she broke up the band. I’m not sure of her reasoning, I went home.” 

Mum turns to me in horror. “You broke up the band, Tegan?” 

I nod, unable to give a response because the only reasoning I could come up with wouldn’t be good enough and she couldn’t possibly handle the truth. 

Sara’s head drops and Mum turns to her. “Did you agree to this? Do you not want to be in the band anymore?” 

“I-” She falters, lisp heavy and eyes on the floor as she searches for the right words. “No. I didn’t. . .I don’t.” 

“You don’t?” I gape, looking at her dead in the eyes. “But you-”

“Then why did you break it off, Tegan?” The firing squad is turned back on me. 

“Because she-” My eyes cut to Sara. “You hit me! And you said-”

“I was drunk, Tee! I don’t even remember saying anything. . .please believe me!”

I feel the walls I’ve built crumble and my stare bounces between each of her pupils, searching for a hint that she’s being honest. Her eyelids fill with moisture as her throat bobs from swallowing down the knot that I assume is there. 

There’s so many things to say and we’re in such an inconvenient rock and hard place with Mum in the room. Not to mention the pure white shock I feel at her expressed need for the band to not be over. I thought that’s what she wanted, she told me that’s what she wanted. So I gave that to her.

“That’s another thing,” Mum begins, looking at me, accepting that Sara’s being honest. She continues, “what happened when she was drunk that caused all of this? You two were fine before your show in Vancouver.” 

Sara looks to the floor. “I got heavily intoxicated on the bus after the show before that and I apparently said things that I didn’t mean and I-” 

“And were you drunk when you guys got into the physical fight?” 

“No, I wasn’t. I haven’t had any alcohol since that n-night. . .” she stutters, “I-I mean since I left Glasgow.” And that makes my jaw drop because Sara’s not one to let go of her addictions so easily. “I don’t even know what I said to her. I don’t remember what I said to make her so angry with me.” 

My brain tells me not to believe her because Sara never blacks out like that. Typically, it’s me who has to wake up the next morning with no recollection of anything I did the night before. Sara exercises control; she’s always done that.

“Well. . .what did she say, Tegan?” I reel at the unexpected weight of that question and my brain churns searching for a suitable answer. I try to find a way to give a good enough description to Mum without putting us at risk. 

I lift my eyes to study Sara’s face, watching the tears behind her lids begin to pool again, and the trauma from the memories of her words causes my own tear ducts to activate. 

“She, uh. . .” The muscle within my jaw contracts in a vice grip.

“She said. . .she said that I was the sole reason that her relationship with Emy was going to hell. . .because I am always fucking shit up. . .and that she couldn’t be her own person because I am her twin.” 

Mum looks at Sara and silently shakes her head in disappointment, which makes Sara cower and the tears finally break. 

“She told me that she wishes we weren’t in a band so she. . .” The knot in my own throat fights to be pushed down. “so she only has to see me on holidays.” 

I hang my head as the weight is lifted and my eyes produce their own trail of tears on my cheeks. I look up, through the shield of moisture, to find my sister’s head in her hands. I think maybe she’s finally broken and I pity her. I feel the need to protect her begin to eat me alive when her shoulders start to shake uncontrollably. 

I turn to our mother where she sits with her head bowed, disappointment written all over on her face, and ask her, “Could I talk to Sara alone, please Mum?” 

Her head shoots up in my direction, eyes exasperated. I push on as the anxiety from Sara’s crying fills my bloodstream faster than a pint of tequila. “Mum, thank you for doing this, but I think that we need to reach these conclusions on our own.”

Mum stares at my face, checking my expression to make sure I’m not telling her some bullshit just to get her out of the house so I can explode on my sister. 

“Sure, baby. I guess I could do that. I needed to go to the mall and return a few things anyways.” Her eyebrows pull together in confliction. “Please don’t start arguing girls, this was supposed to be constructive. Not destructive.” 

“We won’t,” I encourage, hating myself and the way my fingers itch as I ache to wrap my arms around Sara and protect her from herself. My walls are demolished by her cries and I feel pathetic. I can’t even last a full week without her doing something to ruin my resolve. “I promise we’re just going to talk it out.”

Mum looks between us, me on the couch with my elbows on my knees and Sara bent over with her head in her hands. We look like a married couple trying to find an escape from their impending divorce, and Mum looks more conflicted than before. She gives in though, shaking her head again and giving her signature sigh as she moves to the kitchen to grab her purse. 

“I guess I’ll go then. I’ll be back in an hour, please don’t let me come home to anymore bruises on either one of you.” 

I motion her away with a small goodbye, unable to tear my eyes off of the floor at Sara’s feet where her tears drop and start to puddle. We sit in silence for a length of time after the front door shuts, alerting us of Mum’s departure. I watch as Sara cries, feet glued to the floor as I attempt to salvage the last few ounces of restraint I have. I study the space between her clothes and skin, taking note of the fact that she is much smaller than the last time I saw her and the fact that she hasn’t touched the food in front of her. I don’t get angry though. How could I? My jeans fit loose around my waist too, and if I look over I’ll find that my plate remains identical to hers, untouched. 

Her silent cries die down, easing my internal struggle to reach out as I watch her shoulders calm from the trembling. I listen to our uneven breathing as I try to find the courage to say the things that needs to be said, but I keep coming up short.

“I don’t even know how to apologize.” Her voice breaks and those wet eyes meet mine, coaxing more tears from my own. 

I clench my jaw and lick the salty moisture from my lips, shaking my head at her statement. “I guess it couldn’t really fix anything at this point, could it?” 

She lets out an aching sob and pleads, “I didn’t mean it, I don’t even know why I said it Tee-” 

“Well you did,” I weep, throwing my hands out in exasperation. “You will never know the pain you put me through, you. . .” I stand, towering over her and shoving my finger into my chest repeatedly. “I had to hurt, Sara. I did. Not you. You say those. . .those gutting things to me and then you come into my room and. . .and you use that, my first time. . .and although that was excruciating enough. . .” Her face screws up at my words and the shame she feels because of them. “Nothing felt like knowing it was hers, Sara.” 

She withers away in disgust for herself, but I continue anyway, dropping to my knees on the carpeted floor in front of her so I can look at her. “Tell me how I’m supposed to forgive you for that. Tell me how I can look past it because you were drunk, and possibly have respect for myself, fuck!” 

I collapse, bringing my hands to my face and sobbing into them. And she cries too, mumbling a slew of apologies.

“How could you. . .how could you tell me that, that you only want to see me on holidays, Sara? You were supposed to be loving me-” 

“I do, Tegan-” She pleads, relentlessly. 

“You were supposed to be loving me, Sara. How could you?” 

“I do love you!” she yells, exposing her bloodshot eyes. The waterworks are constant and uncontrollably as she begs, “I do love you. . .and I don’t know how to make you see that. I don’t even know how to forgive myself, but I’m so sorry. Please believe me Tee, I’m so sorry.” 

I shake my head from my place on my knees. Finding no way out of this, no solution, no salvation. We sit there for a moment locked in each other’s sorrowful gaze, listening to each other’s heavy breaths and sniffles.

“I. . .need. . .you. This is-this is killing me, Sara. I am so tired of needing you.” My voice is hoarse but I force the words out regardless. “I don’t know how to forgive you, but I need you to want this with me. I can’t do it alone anymore.”

“I do want this. I never wanted to break up the band-”

“I’m not talking about that. Me- Sara. Us. This.” My hands motion between us and her eyes settle, waiting for me to continue. “The band, fuck the band. A stage is not worth this. Nothing is. I don’t want to play another song until this can get fixed. Until we can figure it out. I can’t do it anymore, either you can stand up and want me and stop fighting how you feel about me or I’m done with all of it. I can’t be in our band with you, loving you the way I do and getting punished for it, watching you punish yourself for something you can’t control. You have to understand that. I don’t care how we work this out but something has to give.” 

She sits on this for a second, calculating a multitude of things including what I assume to be her own courageousness. Deciding if she’s strong enough to love me, or at least try to allow herself to love me in the way her soul needs to love me. She inhales sharply and looks into my eyes with a pleading stare.

“That’s going to take time, Tee. . .I can’t just-” 

“I understand that. And I’m willing to give you that time. I don’t care, I won’t touch you. I won’t get sad. I won’t beg you, as long as I know that you’re trying. I just need you to try. I can’t promise there won’t be hard times, there’s a lot of things we’re going to have to figure out. . .and it’s not just you, I’m scared too. But it’s ruining us, fighting it. Fighting each other. I don’t care if it never works out, but clearly avoiding it isn’t doing too much good for us either, you know? Can’t we just fucking give it a chance?” 

She pauses and I can see her brain turning beneath the whites of her eyes. I feel the pull being mended together with glue, it’s not the strongest but it’s a start. 

“Give me time to think.”

The words leave me unsatisfied so I drop my eyes, preparing myself for her to come up with another excuse to not help me fix this. I just don’t understand why it’s so fucking difficult for her to at least take a chance with me. 

“Wait, hold on! Don’t go there. Don’t think that I’m denying anything. I’m not saying that I won’t give you what we need, I just need to process and work out some sort of- some sort of plan. I need a little time to get through things first, I need us to be able to work together without the stress of anything else. I need to know that you’ve forgiven me first.”

My eyelids lift at her reasoning, letting our gazes meet each other so I know she’s being sincere and not bullshitting me. 

“I just don’t want to ever have to be in this position, I need to tie up my spine first. I need to get Emy’s things out of my house and into my apartment in New York and I need us to get through our last shows, if you still want to do that. I need to know that I’m not telling you that I can do something just to disappoint you when I can’t.” 

I nod my head in agreement, letting her know that we can do that. Thoughts of Emy slam into my chest, reminding me that a third party has entered our broken reality. 

“You’re moving Emy’s things into your studio in New York?” 

She nods, wringing her hands together and I watch as the tendons stretch beneath her pale, beautiful skin. 

“She doesn’t have enough money for a place right now by herself and she didn’t want to go back to her parent’s house in Long Island so I told her to just move everything into my place. She won’t really talk to me apart from that, and I guess I can’t blame her.” 

“I’m so sorry, I. . .I never should have opened my mouth.” 

She pulls my hand from off of my lap and into her own cold grasp, twisting my thumb ring around and around between her two fingers. The contact visibly relaxes me, hitting my veins and calming my muscles like a narcotic. 

“No, I- I deserved it. We were almost there anyways and I know that she won’t tell anyone. She might be furious at us right now, but she told me while she was throwing my shit around that she would never tell anyone. Even though she couldn’t look at me.” 

“Do you trust her?” I whisper, watching her fingers stay fixated on the cheap jewelry. 

“Of course I do. Do you?” 

I nod without hesitation. I mean hell, it’s not like anyone would believe her if she did being that she’s a fresh ex-girlfriend. But I’ve known Emy for eight years, and with as much as she values loyalty—especially to Sara and I—the last thing I think she’d do would be to try and ruin our career. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, studying the dark circles around her eyes and her sunken in cheeks. 

“Honestly? It’s like a breath of fresh air. It hurts more to know that I’ve lost her friendship more than anything.” 

“Yeah.” My gut twists, hoping that Emy finds peace in the situation, hoping that she comes searching for answers like I offered her so she can get some sort of closure before she excommunicates us forever. 

We sit in silence for a few seconds, letting our erratic heart beats slow down after the storm. 

“Tee, I. . .I don’t know if the words are right, I. . .but you, uh. . .I’ve missed you. I don’t think there’s a right word for it.” She whispers raw and honest and it makes me want to kiss her lips but I don’t. I choose to bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss the inside of her palm instead, which is oddly more intimate than I think a kiss on her lips would’ve been. But I don’t give it much thought. 

My head nods because I get it. I get the feeling of not being able to correctly explain the pull and what it feels like for us to be away from each other. You could try to pretend to understand the pain and it still would be unimaginable. 

“Mum’s going to be happy we made up.” I smile at the possibility of our future and breathe her cologne through my nostrils as she curls her lip upwards to match mine. 

“I guess she is. She was so angry with me yesterday.” 

“I heard!” My laughter fills the room and Sara smiles bigger, looking at me with a certain type of adoration in her brown eyes that makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter just as violently as they always have. “Bet you wish you had your big sister there with you to take the blame, huh?” 

Sara’s face flushes, looking down at my hand for a focal point where she continues to play with it. 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” 

***

I answer the phone with a smile on my face, sandwiching the plastic device between my shoulder and ear so I can wrap the towel around my naked figure. 

“Hey, beautiful.” Lindsey’s soft voice spills through the speaker and into my eardrums. 

“Hi baby, are you still going to come see me before we head back to the UK?” 

“I am, actually! I’ll be flying in tomorrow morning at 10 a.m., will your mom pick me up or do I have to get a cab?” 

I run my fingers through my wet overgrown bangs. Man, I really need a haircut. 

“I’m sure she won’t mind, Linds. We can all go get breakfast or something. I’ll take you to one of Sara and I’s favorite places to eat. Mum is making us stay with her until we leave again.” 

“Oh yeah,” her voice shifts, “You never fully told me what happened with that, why didn’t you guys finish the tour?” 

I sigh, squeezing a sizeable amount of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and turning the cold tap on to run water over the bristles. I love Lindsey a lot, I really do. She really is the only other woman who is perfect for me apart from Sara, but sometimes I wish she didn’t ask so many questions. Questions are difficult and the thought of her questions coming to the same conclusions that Emy’s came to is terrifying. 

“Well, we just weren’t doing too well. We had been in a few bus accidents and Sara and Emy broke up while on tour-” 

“Oh yeah, Emy told me about that.” 

“You’ve spoken to Emy?” My hand freezes in the middle of my brushing motions. “What did she tell you?” 

Lindsey laughs nervously and I hear the flicker of her lighter. “Just that Sara cheated on her so they broke up.” 

I panic, brain pulling my consciousness to multiple horrific conclusions of exactly what Emy could have told her. My girlfriend doesn’t seem shocked in the slightest though, so I try my hardest to push those thoughts away. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t good and Sara’s a total bitch for doing that. But I think it was overdue.” 

“Do you know who she slept with?” I wonder if she’s trying to pry lies out of me before telling me nonchalantly that Emy told her everything. Lindsey coughs on the other end and it sounds like she uses a hand to muffle the receptor. 

“Nope, no idea. Just some random chick that she picked up. Anyways, how did your shoot go? You just finished with Paramore right? Also what are you smoking? Can I have some?” 

She giggles at my nonsense. “Yeah, I did. Hayley is great. I mean the boys were a lot of fun too but you’d like Hayley. She’s as tiny as you are. I think we’re going to be friends.” I smile through the phone, missing her. “And oh nothing, just a little friend I like to call Mary Jane.” 

I laugh loudly, remembering the times I used to get stoned in this exact bathroom during my teenage years.

“I’ll have to get you totally baked the next time you’re in LA.”

“I would like that.” I smile, spitting out the minty toothpaste and rinsing my toothbrush. 

“So what are you up to today?” 

My feet carry myself out of the bathroom and into my childhood bedroom where I sift through the laundry basket that Mum placed on the bed before she left with Sara to go to the mall. I find a long black t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. My thumb presses the speaker button on the keyboard of my Blackberry so I can talk to Lindsey while I put my undergarments and clothes on. 

“After I get off the phone with you, I have to do two phone interviews about the record and then I’m probably going to head by my house to change the clothes in my suitcase. I also need to message the boys and tell them that we’ll be flying back out in two days. What about you?” 

My back meets the clean bedsheets with a huff, I rub my legs together to rid myself of the warmth there. I haven’t been in the mood for weeks, a foreign concept with my hyper-sexuality due to me and Sara’s current predicament, but suddenly my clit is aching and Lindsey’s low and heavy voice is doing nothing to lessen the throbbing. I push down the guilt I feel for getting turned on over something that isn’t Sara and I have to remind myself that it’s okay. That those things—getting turned on by Sara and getting turned on by something that isn’t Sara—are two different ball games, on two different playing fields, completely separate within my heart and body. 

I unbutton the jeans of my shorts and explore, pushing lower and underneath my underwear to feel for the wetness there as I listen for her response. 

“I’m probably just going to sit here until the sun goes down and start packing. My flight leaves at a little after 8:00, so I’m going to try and get a good night’s rest. I might edit a little before bed.” 

My breath hitches as I circle my clit, feeling the way it pulses beneath my fingers. 

“Tee?” Lindsey’s voice drops an octave, completely aware of what caused my intake of breath, being that this isn’t the first time we’ve resulted to this. “What are you doing?” 

I gather my fluid and return to my clit, circling and enticing another sharp intake of breath from within my lungs. 

“Are you alone?” I practically moan out and I can hear her shuffling. I image her getting into her bed, on top of her brown duvet and into the same position that I am in. 

“I am. Are you touching yourself, Tegan?” 

I quiver, pooling more at the burning desire beneath my tummy. I moan again, breathless and confirming her question. 

“You are. . .fuck, Tee. Does it feel good?” 

“Yes.” My voice shakes, eyebrows coming together to form a tight line from the pleasure my middle finger is giving me. 

“I bet it does. You’re so fucking sexy.” She moans out, and I can feel her breath hitch too from the agony I imagine her own hand is putting her through. 

I dip into my depths and curl with two fingers, but my mind plays the most awful tricks on me—sending me back to Glasgow where Sara was eight inches deep inside of me and pounding. I feel ashamed for different reasons, and the shame of that only causes the wetness to intensify. 

“I can’t wait to feel you inside of me.” Lindsey moans and my back arches, though it’s not what I want. 

I give myself slow thrusts, curling each time my knuckles meet my sex, imagining Sara’s face as she pushed inside of me for the first time and remembering the pleasure that overtook the pain as she bottomed out. I moan at the feeling of my walls contracting around the absence of Sara’s attachment as I draw closer to my conclusion. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, Tee?” She practically groans into my ear and I feel the contractions become sporadic. My eyes close so I can picture Sara’s back curling with every thrust and the way her spine felt beneath my fingers, the way her fringe tickled my forehead and the beads of her sweat that spilled onto me. 

My thighs quake as I cum, Lindsey following closely behind me, but the relief I feel is unwelcomed by my brain. The knot in my throat forms after the lust fades like a haze away from my consciousness, reminding me exactly what I just did. 

“I love you so much.” She whispers through the phone. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

My head aches at the tug on my heartstrings, coated in dark amber guilt. 

“I love you more, Linds. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” 

***

Two fingers press to the bridge of my nose through the entirety of my phone interviews. I give fake laughs and turn on my nervous charm while begging silently for them to not ask hours worth of questions.

I try to stop myself from pacing but that thought flies out the window once I’m thirty minutes into my second interview. I’ve made my way around the basement, finding myself on Sara’s kempt bed after the initial shock of her door being unlocked fades away. 

My eyes travel around the room, looking at all of Sara’s old belongings that she left behind when we got our first apartment a few blocks away. I trace the patterns of the wooden floor and bask in Sara’s scent. Wishing to be the blankets beneath me, pressed against her skin and keeping her warm, and I think about how the blankets and I were meant for the same purpose when we were made.

I catch my eye on Sara’s suitcase and the black college ruled notebook that sits on top of it. 

Is it her journal? The curious parts of myself asks my brain. 

I don’t know, maybe we should go look. My brain responds. 

So I snoop, inching towards the notebook after I pull the phone away from my ear to check one more time that I’m alone in the basement and they haven’t arrived home yet because Sara would be rightfully pissed if she walked in on me going through anything of hers. 

But I don’t listen hard enough, because shortly after I open it up to find that it’s a songbook and the last song she’s written is called Sheets, she is walking through the passageway of her door. Her hand flies to her heart when she sees me in the corner of her room, catching me red handed with my fingers holding up the notebook cover. 

“Fuck, Tegan.” She blows out a puff of air, palm pressed to the erratic beat of her heart. “You scared me. What are you doing- Oh.” Her brain catches up with her eyes and she looks at me with an eyebrow lifted. I move to put the phone on speaker and hold my hand over the receptor. 

“I’m sorry!” I whisper, giving her the best ‘forgive me’ look that I can muster. 

“Tegan? Are you there?” The woman from Pitchfork asks, bringing me back to the conversation. 

“Yes! I’m so sorry, I couldn’t hear you for a second. Bad reception I guess. What was the last thing you said?” 

She laughs, accepting my lie and repeating the question. I give her a prompt answer as Sara moves to her bed, laying her shopping bags on the floor below and shrugging out of her jacket. 

I notice her left arm wrapped in plastic wrap, white tape wrapped around the top and bottom to seal it to her skin. She got a new tattoo. On the inside of her bicep, too. Ouch. 

The Pitchfork woman ends the call shortly after, thanking me for my time and I quietly wonder how many of my words she’s going to turn around in the transcript. 

“Hey, Sare.” I sit on the bed and watch her unpack the shopping bags, looking up at me with scolding eyes through her fringe. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked at your things. I promise I didn’t see anything though, you walked in as soon as I opened the cover.” 

“Hmm.” She mumbles, smirking and not believing me for a minute. 

“You got new clothes, I see. And a new tattoo! Lets see it.” 

She blushes and moves her arm to the side, pulling off the tape and plastic wrap with a wince. It’s a red bird framed around brown filigree. I recognize the image from a framed picture in one of our favorite childhood movies Sister, My Sister. 

“It’s beautiful, Sara.” I whisper, feeling my own skin itching to get work done. Underneath my chest my heart is fluttering at the symbolism of the movie, the movie that Sara and I watched together as sixteen year olds and the way it basically taught us that we weren’t the only ones in the world who felt that type of love for each other. 

“They’re bound for life, bound in blood.” I hear the words from the movie move through my ears, coating my tummy with butterflies. 

“Thank you.” She smiles, knowing what’s happening to me in my head because of her new ink. 

“Did Mum go with you? What’s the new outfit for?” 

My eyes follow her to the bathroom where she comes out with a clean wet washcloth, wiping the dried blood off of her tattoo. 

“She did, she actually got a tattoo as well. Can you believe that? She got our initials and a tiny red heart on her inner forearm in red ink. It’s so gay, I love it.” 

“Man,” The rooms fills with my laughter, voice equally shocked that my mother got a tattoo. “I’ve got to see it.” 

We laugh together as she throws the bloody washcloth in the dirty laundry bin when she’s done, applying a light coat of moisturizer that she picked up from the shop over her new ink. 

“And I uh, I bought the new outfit in hopes that. . .in hopes that you would say yes to- to going to dinner with me tonight. Just us.” 

The butterflies in my stomach flutter and fly up into my throat, spilling out into my mouth and making it hard to speak. I lock eyes with her for a second, not wanting to get excited until I am sure that she is serious. 

When she does nothing but give me a nervous smile from the corner of her lips, nothing can keep my own gummy smile held back while I nod in agreement. 

Sara

We walk in the hot August sun through downtown Vancouver, towards our favorite sushi restaurant after bidding Mum goodbye. She wanted to come with us, but seemed satisfied enough with not coming after we told her that we were going to try and talk a few things out and decide what’s best for us in terms of our band and our relationship. 

I glance over at my twin from where she walks to the right of me, hands shoved into the pockets of her jean jacket and her black sunglasses shielding her eyes from the setting sun. 

The entirety of the last few weeks has been an emotional rollercoaster. From my worst nightmares of Emy finding out about us, to Tegan and I’s downfall and the pain of having to watch Emy pack her things while she avoided me like a plague. And what’s awful is that I still don’t know much of anything anymore. I want to fix things with Tegan but I don’t know how and to be completely honest, I still don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to give her what she wants. 

For one thing, she and I need rest. 

We need a few months off. We need to learn how to respect each other, and to mend things as sisters first. The trust I’ve broken with her needs to be regained first and foremost before we are ready to be honest with each other or love each other in any other way. What could I possibly hope to gain from loving her if she can’t trust me? 

I can only hope that she shares my understanding of this. 

We walk into the restaurant and ask for the most secluded table they have, following the young waiter as he leads us to an intimate table upstairs in the outdoors bar/lounge area. I nearly ask him for a whiskey neat before reminding myself that I’m sobering up, so I choose a hot tea instead. Tegan doesn’t follow suit, ordering a local beer that I don’t recognize instead. We both order different sushi rolls and fried rice without looking at the menu and my eyes follow the back of his retreating figure as he saunters off. 

“Before we begin, to get it out of the way, I just want you to know that Lindsey is flying in tomorrow to see me.” 

I nod, thanking the waiter as he sets down our drinks. “Of course, Tee. We can all go out for breakfast. The boys are going to be getting into Vancouver tomorrow too so we can all fly out together.”

My twin looks at me like I’ve grown a fifth limb. “You aren’t upset that she’s coming?” 

I almost laugh, following her mouth as the rim of her beer touches it so she can drink. “No, I’m not actually.” 

“But, she-”

“Tegan,” I scold her projections. “I’ve never had a problem with Lindsey. I mean, I don’t necessarily want to hear you two having sex again, but we’ve already been through that, and I’m sure it won’t happen anyways since I assume you guys will be staying at your place.” 

Her eyebrows raise in bewilderment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just wanted to tell you beforehand so you didn’t think I was doing it to hurt you.” 

“That wouldn’t be my first assumption anyways. Lindsey is your girlfriend, and just because we haven’t figured everything out yet. . .just because we don’t know how to. . .” I sigh in frustration. It’s like a fucking speech impediment appears, rearing me practically speechless when it comes to this particular subject. 

“You don’t have to, Sara. I know what you mean.” 

I shake my head in exhaustion. “No, I’m tired of doing that. It’s something that has to be talked about and it shouldn’t be so fucking difficult.” 

“It is though.” Her eyes find mine in understanding. “It is difficult.” 

My index finger circles around the rim of my tea, letting the conversation go and accepting that sometimes she’ll just have to understand exactly what it is I’m trying to say. The waiter brings us the sushi rolls and rice to our collective delight and Tegan groans after scarfing down all seven rolls within ten minutes. I take my time with my food, unlike my sister who’s sitting back in her chair with her hands clasped over her full tummy. 

“Spend three months with me in New Orleans.” She blurts out, causing my silver chopsticks to drop onto my plate with a loud clash. 

My eyes latch onto hers in shock, leaning in closer to her to make sure I heard everything right. 

“New Orleans?” My mouth hangs open at her devious smile. “Like. . .Louisiana, Tegan? Why on earth would we-”

“No, I’m serious. Think about it. Who the fuck knows who we are in Louisiana? I don’t even- I don’t think we’ve ever even played in Louisiana.” 

I sit back in my chair, wishing I would have ordered that whiskey. The look on her face tells me she’s dead serious. So I let the invitation sit with me, conjuring up the pros and cons. 

“Just spend three months with me, I-I think that we need it, and um, a vacation I mean. But without everything else. Without anyone else.” 

I nod, agreeing with her but still skeptical. 

“We can rent a house and try to figure all of this out, we can even write music while we’re there.” 

Her thumbs twirl together, teeth pulling her labret flat against her bottom lip. A nervous tick she’s had since she got the piercing. 

“What would we tell everyone? I mean, I would love to. But that’s a long time Tegan, do you think we could spend three months together in the same house without killing each other or?” 

My cheeks tint red at the words I was about to say. Do you think we could be together, alone, without fucking each other senseless? 

And she knows exactly what I was thinking because her cheeks are red too, and there’s a glint in her eyes, and I have to swallow down the way it makes me feel because I’m sobering up, remember? 

“That’s the thing,” Her voice is low, touched with the slightest hint of encouragement. “I want us to just be there, with each other, and communicate. We don’t have to. . .you know, do anything. I even think it would be better to not focus on that until we can get it all out, I mean. I don’t think that I could. . .that I could do that so soon anyways after, after what happened in Glasgow.” 

I turn to my own hands in my lap in shame, regret filling my lungs where air should be. 

“I understand,” My voice is barely a whisper. She reaches over the table in the darkness of night, double checking our surroundings to make sure the people in our vicinity were secure in their spaces at the bar. 

Her hand finds mine and it’s clammy but I hold onto it anyways, twirling that goddamned silver ring in my fingers and flashing quick eyes behind and to the side of Tegan because we could never be too careful, even if only for a second.

“Hey, that’s not what I was meaning to say. I mean, I’m not saying. . .even after that, not touching you is excruciating to me, and you know that. It’s just that, if we spend three months indulging in each other, not much will get accomplished. But trust me, Sara. I-” Her jaw clenches and I can tell that the conversation is difficult. She checks around us again with wandering eyes before whispering, “If I could spend the rest of my life. . .giving myself to you. . .I would do it in a heartbeat. But I need to give myself to you in other ways. And I need those other ways from you, too. I need to trust you again. I need things to be different.” 

My lip trembles as I’m flooded with watching her speak such words to me so openly, but I nod my head, agreeing and not needing a goddamn drop of alcohol with the way she intoxicates me. Our hands separate as someone scoots off of their chair at the bar and she takes a massive swig of her beer.

“So is that a yes?” She reciprocates the sweet smile tugging at the corner of my lips. 

“When will we leave? It will have to be after the three last shows and I-” 

“Well of course.” The laughter from both of us fills the space between our sentences at my rambling and I can’t help but feel the weight lifted from my chest at the idea that we’re planning something that can potentially help us. “I figured we could do the shows and then be in New Orleans by late September. We can start recording after Christmas.” 

“You want to make another record?” 

She gives me a face of confusion, “Well, yeah. We have one more with our contract remember?” 

“Sorry, I forgot.” My fingers find my eyes to rub the tiredness out of them. “I’m just so tired, Tee.” 

Her eyes drop like she understands. “I know. And I think that’s what’s causing everything to be so much worse than it has to be. God I mean, I can’t remember a time in our careers where we’ve slowed down or went on vacation.” 

“I can’t either. So, yes. I don’t see why we couldn’t spend a few months in New Orleans. But only if you find us a nice house.” 

She radiates happiness with the widest smile reaching her eyes, giving a short nod at my agreeing to her proposal. 

“We need to set some ground rules first.” And her smile drops, but not entirely off of her face, enough to tell me to keep talking. 

“I can expect that we will spend some time arguing with each other once we start working everything out, we don’t need to be afraid of that and we don’t need to punish each other for it either.” 

She nods at rule number one, drinking more of her beer. 

“If we’re going to be alone, then we need to be alone. No um. . .no girlfriends or friends or anyone else but Mum, and that’s on Christmas.” 

“Okay, I’m sure Lindsey will understand. I’ll just spend the time leading up to that with her, that’s what I was planning on doing anyways. What else?” 

I clench my jaw and contemplate if this rule was worth setting or even capable of being followed given the circumstance. 

“No alcohol, it has done nothing for us.” And I can tell that Tegan has to contemplate this, being that she’s a fairly heavy drinker. A true Canadian, to the core. 

“I think I can manage sobriety with you if you can promise me that you’ll communicate your true feelings to me, even the bad ones.” I slip into the same state that my twin was in moments before, contemplating if that requirement was too big for me to tackle, but her eyes are gleaming and they make me feel hopeful—hopeful and in love with her, just as I have been my entire life. 

I feel like through the difficulty of it all, she is me and she is mine, and I am hers in every sense of the word so that should render me strong enough to do that for her. To communicate, to manage my guilt and learn how to control it, to give patience to myself. 

I give a promise to myself at that table across from the love I nearly lost that I will openly give her my communication and then some. Everything I’ve denied from her and from us for the last twelve years. In my head, I promise to give her the one thing I never have—a promise that I will try. 

So I nod my head. “I promise.” 

*** 

She flicks the lights on to her house, illuminating the messy living room with a sigh. 

“Does Jeremy not clean this place?” I ask, my fingers itching to pick up the empty takeout boxes laying everywhere and wash the clothes that lay haphazardly around the couch. 

“I don’t really know. I’m rarely here. It’s his house, Sare. Technically he can do what he wants since he doesn’t make me pay rent.” 

I shrug her statement off, not understanding how either of them could live in this mess. I’ve never seen Jeremy to be an uncleanly person, so to see his belongings in this state comes as a shock to me. 

My converse kick a carton to the side beneath the unflattering light from the ceiling fan, “How long has he left it like this? Where is Jeremy anyways? This is so unlike him.” 

“Sare, just let it be. It’s okay. I’m sure he’ll clean it up when he gets home. He and Cam are in Los Angeles right now looking at houses.” 

“Houses? Are they moving?” She walked into the kitchen to fix a glass of water. 

“Yeah, well they’re thinking about it at least. I’m not sure if it will be soon or not, but Cameron’s Student Visa is almost up so they’re thinking about getting married so Jeremy can get his citizenship in the States.” 

“Been there,” I mutter, causing her to giggle beneath the rim of her glass. 

“Yeah. . .I guess you have, haven’t you? I’m going to go throw some clothes in the laundry. Can I get you anything?” 

“No thank you, I’m going to clean your living room.” 

Her eyes roll back into her head with a sarcastic smile plastered to the sharp curves of her face. I can’t help but think about how this new leaf we’ve turned over has removed the comfort between us. It feels similar to a new relationship and it’s causing my nervousness to bring forth my lisp and the palms of my hands to sweat as I rub them together, trying to find where I should even begin in this frat house living room. The beer cans seem like a good place to start, so I pick up the few beside my feet and get to work, listening to Tegan shuffle about in her room. I don’t even want to know the state that her room is in. 

We fall quiet, working separately in the cold air of her house. I don’t clean profusely, only picking up the trash and folding the blankets that are in a tangled bunch on the couch. The scratching of a needle on a vinyl record fills the room, causing the corners of my mouth to turn skywards. Bruce Springsteen, my favorite. Tegan’s off-tune humming, also my favorite. 

I clean until the living room is in a better state, the beer cans and boxes are in the garbage bin and the dirty clothes are in a pile against Jeremy’s bedroom door. Around the time that I finish up, I hear the washing machine start up from the laundry room. 

“Hey, Sare?” 

Tegan’s voice flows into the living room, alerting me of her presence. “Yeah?” 

“Could you play me the song that I saw today in your notebook? I didn’t read any of the lyrics but it was called Sheets, holy shit- It looks nice in here. Thank you for doing that.” 

My eyes find hers in hesitation, fingers clasping together around each other in front of my torso. Her teeth catch her bottom lip in a vice grip as she looks at me and waits for my response. I don’t think I’ve ever played a demo in front of Tegan, not even when we were living together. Also, the song is about her—per usual—so I don’t know if that will be parasitic to us. But the look on her face tells me she will be more hurt if I decline, so I don’t. My head nods instead and I beg the nerves to ease up a little bit. 

“Sure, I think I could do that. Do you have your equipment with you?” 

Her eyes scan back and forth as she tries to think of the whereabouts of her instruments. “I have a standard sized Gibson, but the rest of my things are at Mum’s house. Will that be okay?” 

“That’s fine. I haven’t played a full body in years, but I think I could do it.” 

“It’ll be sweet.” She smiles. “Like the old times.” And that causes me to smile too. 

“C’mere, you can play it in my room so it won’t echo as bad.” 

My tummy turns, unsettled at the thought of us being alone in a confined space together because I know where my mind will go and part of me even wonders if she’s doing this to test me, or maybe because she knows the tracks that our train is headed for if I agree to this route that she’s made. And it’s a shame, really. Because everything in my body and in my soul wants to be in her, to become her, but that doesn’t come without the price of guilt. Guilt that I’m not strong enough to overcome, not yet. 

But it’s my heart, not quite my brain that tells the muscles in my legs to move. 

So I move, following her into her bedroom with timid feet and arms crossed, protecting myself from the pull. I throw my converse off at the door while she sits on the floor with her legs crossed. She reaches a left hand next to her to grab her Gibson and sticks it out to me. 

“Do you need a pick?” she speaks, gently. 

And I barely hear it. My head is reeling, spinning on a rollercoaster because the entire fucking room smells like her and it hits me in the gut, hands wrapped around my neck and becomes the air I breathe. And obviously that’s difficult for me, a certain euphoria that only my soul is akin to or accepting.

“Sara?” I turn to her, wondering if the pain is showing through my face. Like a lion, malnourished and worshipping the gazelle, it’s me. But I can’t consume the gazelle and that’s something of a frenzy, and you would think—you really would fucking think, why not just eat the fucking gazelle if you’re hungry? But no one fucking understands, the gazelle might be a primal source of food, but it’s also your fucking soulmate so you can’t eat it, you can’t consume it because when the gazelle dies—you will too. And Tegan is that gazelle, giving herself up to me, a sacrifice albeit more masochistic than heroic because I’m starving and predatory and selfish and she should fucking run from me. She should run, but she won’t. She never will either. Despite the world knowing that a gazelle and a lion don’t belong in peace together, they just don’t, it’s too taboo. She still doesn’t run, despite her knowledge of it, instead she lays on the grass and she offers herself to me. Mine for the taking and the keeping. 

What does a lion do in that position, does it eat? Or do they both lay on the grass together and starve?

“Sara?” She whispers through the teeth that’s biting the pick, clearly seeing my uncomfort given the fact that I haven’t answered her or stepped into her room. I stand there for a second, fingers numb and clenching the sleeves of my jacket. The look on her face, the happiness—

I lay on the grass next to my gazelle. 

Taking the pick from between her lips and putting it between mine, I sit down across from her to maneuver the guitar onto my lap and adjust the capo to fit around the correct fret. 

My fingers pick the first strings into a lengthy entrance as my brain searches for the correct lyrics. I slow the song down, wanting her to be able to fully understand the words and the aura of what I’ve created. 

“Remove us from the scene of the crime   
I can't help myself, details fill my mind   
They roll their eyes and pull our elbows   
I forget our love was so hopeful,

I promise I won't linger long   
I promise I won't push my face up against your clothes   
Or your stupid sheets.” 

I watch as her face drops to the floor, listening with intent to every word I gently sing. 

“I deserve a stay, a second thought   
I put your head on straight, tied my tourniquet   
You want the marrying type, a commitment   
Can't help myself, if it's a fit it'll fit 

I promise I won't linger long   
I promise I won't push my face up against your clothes   
I won’t linger long  
I won’t push my face up against your clothes or your stupid sheets. 

Just give me the key, I watch your things like I watch your face,  
It's a heart attack that you feel.” 

And I don’t finish it off because I can’t quite remember the way I ended it and because Tegan’s face is going through so many unique and individual expressions. She seems awestruck, yet sad, which is completely understandable. 

“I wrote it in Montreal before I came here, actually.” My lisp is so heavy above my tongue from the nerves of playing in front of her without the focal point and distraction of the audience, but I can’t help myself from talking about it in fear that she won’t, that she’ll just sit here in such awkward melancholy sadness with me. 

She smiles, the sadness fully taken over by now though I’m not sure what she really expected. It’s not like I’ve had much material to write happy songs for within our last tumultuous eight years. 

“It’s us.” She speaks again, so slowly and softly I nearly miss it. “It’s beautiful.” 

“The chorus,” I begin, fiddling with the chipped wood where the dark saddle of the guitar is aging. “I’m speaking to myself. Telling myself all of the things I wouldn’t do when I saw you again.” 

A frayed foreign string from her socks gets turned around and around and around her finger until it turns blue as she distracts herself from eye contact, calculating the words I’ve said in her brain. 

“Did it help you?” 

The question throws me off balance as I’m fully unprepared to answer something like that, but I guess I might as well answer honestly if I’m to answer anything at all. 

“No.” 

“And are you. . .are you finding any of it easy to do?” 

“No.” 

She looks up at me from beneath long eyelashes, pausing for a moment so she can study me with her brows together. 

“What do you really want to do, Sara?” 

This makes everything in my body constrict, but not because I think she’s teasing me purposefully, or even being seductive. I think this is raw and honest and cutting me open, I think she’s giving a sincere question. And it sucks because that conclusion doesn’t take away from the fact that someone has oiled the pull and it’s working, working through the tape that holds it together, causing my palms to turn clammy and the skin on my chest to flush. 

“All of it.” 

I return the hard gaze, giving her hard truth and hard reality because it’s something we both need to hear. Our gazes lock for what seems like minutes, long enough for me to use my eyes to trace the patterns of her jaw muscles as they clench beneath taut skin. 

Her head drops moments later, attention to the floor between our feet. 

“Me too.” 

And that statement from her is a statement of fate and juxtaposition—the two things I find most troubling in our lives. 

“Tegan, can I. . .could I touch you one more time? Before we put the brakes on everything and begin this process?” My lips feel foreign as I speak, knowing that it isn’t my brain talking. 

“Don’t you think that would. . .isn’t that. . .”

“I won’t run, I-I couldn’t. It’s not that simple anymore.” A sigh is pulled through my lungs. “I did damage to you, physically and I can’t explain to you the way it makes me feel to know that I took advantage of you like that-” 

“You didn’t, for fuck’s sake- you didn’t rape me, don’t think that you-” Her throat contracts as she swallows her words like a horse pill. “I would’ve stopped you. That’s not it, I just. Well first, it was hers and I wanted that experience to feel. . .I wanted that moment to. . .I wanted to be held and taken care of during that. I would have wanted you to be tender.” 

Which strikes a cord in me, because Tegan and I when we come together as one, it’s always violent and anything but tender. 

“You wanted benevolence.” I offer. 

“No.” She stand in frustration with her fist held tightly against her stomach to tower over me. I follow her up, posture erect and attentive. 

“I wanted you. Present in that moment with me. Not drunk, not just your body, not your hand around my neck. Nobody had ever done that. . .what I needed from you was awareness of what you were doing and who you were doing it to and I was shown nothing in return. I needed tenderness, Sara.” 

God, what a statement. 

“Teach me then.” I blurt out, feeling ashamed and in love and overcome with a need for redemption. “You’ll have to teach me what you expect from me because I don’t know it yet. Do to me what I did to you, slow me down and teach me.” 

My hands lift to my button up and begin to undo the buttons of my shirt, and I watch her eyes follow my fingers through the pearl clasps, lips parted as I work my way down. Exposing pale skin to her that belongs to her. I step into the remaining feet between us, putting myself into her proximity. 

“I need you to show me physically before you show me emotionally, then let me give it back to you. Make love to me, Tee. Slow me down, give me something to look forward to-”

And her lips are on mine before my sentence is finished, but she pauses there, letting out an uneasy exhale and breathing into my mouth.

“Tell me you won’t run from me, tell me we’re not making a mistake.” 

And I do, running my top lip along the reddened soft expanse of her bottom lip because I’m a tad bit shorter than her.

“I won’t run. I’m not stopping anything and we aren’t making a mistake. We’re mending, learning. I won’t run.” 

The pull is snapping together as my lips are captured between her own in a fervor. Her body backs mine up to her mattress that sits on a box spring, intoxicating me at her smell that fills my senses when my back hits the sheets. 

“Do you have a. . .to me what I did to you, Tegan. Do you have one?” Her head dips down, processing what I’m implying and groaning when she puts together what I’m saying. 

“Fuck, okay. Stay put.” Her weight and digging hip bones disappear from me and I reach beside the mattress to turn off the lamp that lays on the hardwood floor, after she finds what she’s looking for within one of her dresser drawers. 

She shuffles her shirt off in the darkness, her jeans and underwear following suit, so I do the same. I barely get my clothes off before she’s back on top of me and dropping kisses up my body like she owns it.

She crawls her way up my body with open mouthed kisses, her attachment running along my leg and that’s enough to make my back arch into her, feeling the heat spread it’s way through my limbs. The thickness of the silicone attachment pressing into my inner thigh as she draws her tongue from the nape of my neck to my ear. 

“Fuck.” I mumble into her mouth once it’s back on me, tugging and pulling and barely allowing me to come up for air. Suddenly there’s pressure against my core as she palms me gently through my underwear, no doubt feeling the damp evidence of the waters she’ll soon be swimming in.

“Have you. . .have you ever done this?” She groans into my open mouth, unable to control her hips that have begun to rock against me. I wrap my legs around her waist, trailing my heels down the smooth expanse of her legs and onto her calves. I nod my head, holding onto her strong jawline with my fingers so she can kiss me deeper. My body aches for her, needing her to wrap me up and consume me and press against me until I can’t tell where I end and she begins. 

“Okay, it’s not small, so. . .” and that makes my face screw up in pleasure, lit on fire at the thought of it giving me a slow, painful pleasure. “It’s new, I bought it before tour-”

“Shut up, Tegan.” I moan, nipping at her bottom lip and moving her hand back to my underwear so she can remove them. She’s nervous I can tell, given the mumbling and hesitation, and I find it so endearing that her hands shake as she slides the underwear off of my legs. I shake too as the nerves course through my body, getting a good look at the attachment that she tugs at with her right hand and pulling her back up to me with a soft hand to her jaw. She soothes the hesitation with her tongue as our lips meet, dipping into my open mouth and sealing my fate with the intensity. I moan, running my right hand down her torso to wrap around the phallus so I can lubricate it with the product of my undoing. She drops her head onto my breasts, lungs heaving and we haven’t even started. 

Strong hands wrap around the middle of the underside of my thighs, pressing down onto them so I am left spread entirely open with my knees nearly touching the mattress and so exposed that the smell of my sex fills the space between us. She groans, looking down at what is open and ready for her, and watching as I move the cock towards my opening. 

“Go slow okay?” I let my nerves show, connecting eyes with my twin so she can guide me back towards earth where she’s about to make love to me. 

She nods, giving me the most honest look of pure unabashed desire I’ve ever seen. 

“Just hold onto me, Sare. I’ll go slow, just hold onto me.” 

So I do, letting my left hand cup the side of her jaw with my right arm tracing up towards her chest and around her shoulders to tangle within her sweaty brown locks. 

Pleasure and pain rips it way through me as her hips move forward to push inside of the pool I’ve created for her from the body that mirrors her, and the resistance she’s met with combined with the scream that’s let loose from my mouth causes her dark eyebrows to meet low on her forehead in a groan. The abyss opens wide enough to encompass us both, pulling us deeper into the way it feels to love and feel that love given back just as equally and for once to not feel the shame that typically accompanies it. 

She looks at me with eyes like the moon, wide and transfixed, from my own set of hazel orbs to the body I am. It’s intense and deafening, the feeling between us covering the room with such a distinct emotion, an emotion that I’ve been so quick to run from it. But I don’t this time, and how could I? With eyes like hers looking at me and the love I’ve accumulated for her. How could I deny myself of that anymore? It would be physically impossible. It’s proven itself to be physically impossible already. 

I clench tightly at the nape of her neck, balling my hands in a fist and tugging when she pushes in further, sliding all eight inches into me until she seals herself with a smack of her hips against my own. 

I am left with no mercy at the feeling of being full, and we lay there for a minute gasping, so tightly pressed against each other that all I can do is leak tears from the corner of my eyelids in a silent hitch of breath. 

“Just hold onto me, baby.” Her lips press against the wetness covering my cheekbone as I give into her. Opening my legs more and wrapping myself around her hips so I can feel her body as she takes me. I’m rendered immobile, unable to do anything but maintain our eye contact as she slides out. 

“Fuck!” I groan, reveling in the feeling of her bottoming out. Eyes shooting back into my head at the pleasure of repentance for my harmful treatment to her. She moves so quietly and so excruciatingly slow, fucking me into the mattress with poised vehemence. 

I lose myself into the motions as her forehead presses to mine, combining our souls as they were always meant to be—

One.


	5. Five

**Sara**

 

I hold onto Tegan for dear life, like she's the only lifesaver in the middle of the ocean and I am gasping for my last breath as I fight to not go under. She is making love to me. On me. In me. Explicitly for me. As our love surrounds us, drawing forth countless tears.

 

This should’ve been the first time.

 

And it’s all I can think of, as she angles her hips and reaches up to smooth my sweaty fringe back from my forehead. She pushes her way into my depths with thrusting hips, moving slowly and showing me through her motions the way she wishes I would’ve done to her many nights ago. I’m stretched open, pulling her in with the slick sounds of my core clenching and our skin meeting. Her tongue traces mine when our lips meet, it’s sloppy and eager, and my nails find home in the skin between her shoulder blades. I run blood trails to her ass, where I squeeze and pull her into me.

 

“Fuck!” flies from my mouth, alerting her of how deep she’s going, alerting her of my impending orgasm. I will myself to last, knowing that if I hold out a little longer, she’ll meet her demise with me. She looks at me the same way you would look at a first love, the way you look at God after God has been exposed to you, the way you look at something that’s so beautiful you feel like you might die.  

 

 _You are mine_ , her eyes tell me.

 

 _I am yours_ , I return to her.

 

Hazel orbs giving discourses above lips that look identical. Do you know how it feels to need, and be given? I never have, I have always wanted and been disappointed in return. But this is a different ball game, this is a cacophony of yes, please and take it if you want it. And so I take it, I’m given fulfillment in return, and not just because she’s filling me. Tegan’s claiming what’s hers and giving herself to someone else, to me, because I need it. With the sweetest nectar I have to offer, I pour around her, fueling the sounds that make my clit throb and her head drop in a low groan.  

 

When her forehead presses up against my cheek, I feel her shoulders shake beneath the thrusts and the rocking and the sounds. The warm wet trails appear next, giving me something short of ample time before she is sobbing into me and pounding so hard that I’m struggling to breathe.

 

“You were supposed to be loving me.” She weeps, and those shoulder blades contract beneath my fingers as I try my best to ground her.

 

And suddenly her face is in view again and warm tears hit my face—but how could I pay attention to that? How? With her twisted face holding in the last ounce of pain she can manage to hold and her anguish is in my line of sight, killing me slowly. She cries loudly, her hips come to a slow halt, and I’m left with the heaviest of my emotions rising to the surface.

 

She openly weeps, “You were supposed to love me. For years, you were-” and my hands meet her cheekbones, softly thumbing away the salt water trails, “ _Years_ , Sara.”

 

“I do love you. How could you ever think that I don’t?”

 

And she says nothing, only leaning down to place a kiss on my lips that tastes like the sea.

“How could I ever love anyone else? The way I love you?” I seal our fate in the way that she nods at my admissions, drawing hips backwards with a sound that nearly makes me come. I cry out, feeling it everywhere when she pushes back in.

 

I anchor myself to her, tying the red ribbon around our souls and drawing them together—where they can function efficiently.

 

“I wish you would have gone slow.” She mutters, slowing her hips down to an excruciating pace, feeling the way I clench to keep her inside.

 

She slowly bottoms out and repeats the same motion with intensity that shakes my legs and brings forth groans from the mattress. My lungs suck air in desperately through my mouth as we get into a rhythm, she makes love to me like I’m hers for the keeping, like if she doesn’t get all of me then she isn’t getting enough of me. I’m putty, melting through the mattress with my body on cloud nine.

 

“I wish you would have gone fast.” And we take off, lifting into the space above our bodies when she speeds up the pace. Drawing harsh gasps and moans from both of us. Especially her, where I know the base is pressing up against the parts of her I shouldn’t have been so careless with.

 

The best that I can give her in my state is wide eyes and spread thighs, allowing her to stretch me further, allowing her to take more of me.  

 

“Oh!” She groans, looking at me with pleading eyes when my hips begin to meet hers halfway, riding.

 

I nod, encouraging her to continue to unravel without the courage to say it. So she does, breaking her thrusts in uneven increments once our mutual orgasm draws closer. When we come, we grip onto each other tightly and moan so loud it echos off of the walls closing in on us. I feel parts of me dying. The room temperature increases by enough degrees that the sweat from our pores aids our skin in sliding against each other as we come to the end of our conclusion. I am panting, spent, and full of the woman I love.

 

“I wish you would have taken care of me.” My fringe is pushed back again as open mouthed kisses are placed down my neck onto the sensitive skin of my breasts, where her lips curl around my nipples and sends shockwaves to the top of my spine, through my fingers and toes. She pulls out gently, chest heating up from my protest to her leaving, my reluctant resistance.  

“I would have made your body a testament to you, the way that I love you.” And I feel that, everywhere and through everything. Watching my fingers thread through her hair as she continues her kissing from my ribs to my navel before finally reaching my hipbones.

 

“I would have cleaned you up.” And so she does, giving me one last tearful look before I watch her tongue peak out behind swollen lips and lick the same state in front of her.

 

Tasting me for the first time, pushing in between pink folds until she grazes my clit and I cry out as her eyes roll back and close at my taste, at my aroma.

 

“Fuck!” I scream, nearly snapping my thighs around her face and throwing my head back into the pillow with a sharp arch of my back.  

 

***

 

When my eyes open to the daylight, I first notice the weight of her arm around my midsection. Holding me tightly as if I’d run away. I turn around to hold her and brush my fingers down her spine that’s exposed above the sheets around our waists. For the first time in a long time, she looks peaceful. Full eyelashes and lips parted just enough to allow her to breathe through her mouth.

 

I watch her, careful not to move too much when I trail my finger up the soft tan skin of her arm. Los Angeles has really given her a glow, one that I fully appreciate. I trace over her shoulder and down the muscles framing her spine, reveling in the way they flutter under my touch.

 _New Orleans_ , what an idea.

 

I have no concept of what to expect, and how could I? I think that maybe that’s a good thing, not setting my own misconstrued expectations onto something that’s supposed to make us better. I really am not sure what I’ll do though, spending months with her, I have no grasp of how that will go. Tegan and I haven’t spent three months alone since we lived together, and I’m not sure how it will work with Lindsey and all. I mean, what will she think? How will Tegan even present that to her? Like, _“Hey, I know we just started dating and I can see how it will hurt you that we won’t get to spend our first holidays together but Sara and I need some alone time, sorry. Yes, I’m aware that we just spent nearly an entire year with each other. Again, sorry.”_

 

I think it’s probably best to leave it up to her before I stress myself out and become overly anxious. Tegan’s always been good at talking her way through things.

 

My fingers run along a hard ridge at the base of her spine, causing me to gasp and open my eyelids. Scratches, everywhere. From the top of her back to where the sheets cover her ass. Some of them are barely noticeable and others are red and inflamed. I feel sick, I’ve hurt her.

 

The guilt hits me like a load of bricks dropping unexpectedly on my ribcage as I look at the angry marks. There’s at least four deep ones. Did she not feel that? Why didn’t she tell me to stop?

 

“I’m okay, Sare.” She mumbles from her place on my chest, as if she could hear my brain turning and the panic coming off of me in waves. “They don’t even hurt. Stop thinking. Go back to sleep.”

 

I can’t help but to sob, feeling vulnerable and exposed and ashamed of what I’ve done to her. So much physical pain because of me, so many emotional scars I will never see.

 

“Hey,” She coos, leaning up with exposed breasts to pull me into her arms. Those biceps flex as her hand grips the back of my head, placing me in the crook of her collarbone. I press my lips to her neck so I can feel her pulse as hot tears mix between our skin. She giggles and assures me, “Seriously, I’m okay. I’m much sorer in other places.”

 

“But Lindsey will. . .they’re bad, Tee.”

 

“I know, it’s okay. Don’t think about that. Let me handle it.” And she lays me back down onto her pillow so she can see my face. I feel her thumb reach up to wipe away the physical manifestations of my anxiety. Her lips have pulled together in a snide smile, but her eyes show nothing but adoration.

 

“You’re rude.” I state, wishing she would allow me to freak out the way I want.

 

“And you’re breathtaking.” My lips part at her words, inviting her in with the look I give. I am warmed by her words, from my head to my toes and through the tips of my fingers.

 

We look at each other for a long moment, no doubt wondering where we go from here, but her phone interrupts us. Dinging from the pocket of her jeans.

 

“Shit, sorry. It’s probably Lindsey.”

 

“When does she land?” I watch her eyes flick to the clock on the floor next to her bed.

“She should be landing now, actually.”

She moves to her left, giving me full access to the way her ribs peak through the scratches as she bends and reaches for her pants, fishing the phone out of its pocket.  

 

“Yeah, they just landed. She says they’re pulling up to the gate now and she still has to go through baggage claim so it’ll be about thirty five more minutes before she’s ready”

 

“Who’s picking her up?” I question, not wanting Lindsey to have to pay for a cab.

 

Tegan looks at me like she’s seen a ghost. “Uh, Mum and I were supposed to. Shit! We didn’t tell mom that we weren’t staying last night. She’s probably worried sick.”

 

My eyes widen with her. Mum hates when we do that. Tegan rolls back over and looks at me with her cellphone in hand.

 

“Call Mum and ask her if she can go pick up Lindsey, act like nothing ever happened. Tell her we’ll meet them at the restaurant at two. The boys are supposed to be coming too. They’re camping out in Mum’s living room tonight so we can all catch the plane together tomorrow.”

 

She groans and throws herself beside me, making sure to pull the sheets back up to cover her breasts.

 

“Speaker,” I mumble. Tegan groans again, pressing the speakerphone button as soon as Mum picks up.

 

“Hello, Tegan. Nice to know you’re alive. Do you know of your sister’s whereabouts?”  

 

We both groan this time and I hesitantly lay my head on her chest, unsure how she would feel about it.

 

“I’m right here, Mum.” I utter, dreading the lesson we’re about to receive.

 

“Nice of you to join us. You too have a phone and have failed to let your mother know where you were, so don’t think you’re getting off the hook easy.”

 

Tegan rolls her eyes. “Mum, we’re nearly thirty years old.”

 

She scoffs through the speaker of the Blackberry, “I don’t care if you’re eighty! You know that worries me, the last I had heard you and Sara were going to get dinner and do laundry.”

 

“Sorry, Mum.” We say in unison, knowing that the quicker we apologize the sooner it’ll end.

 

“Just let me know next time, girls. Where did you sleep, Sara? The last time I was at Tegan and Jeremy’s house she didn’t even have a couch. Did you guys buy an air mattress?”

 

I give Tegan a glare, mumbling “ _no couch?_ ”

 

“ _Poor_ ,” she mouths back.

 

“Tegan has a couch now. I slept on the couch-” but I’m interrupted by my sisters eager voice.

“Hey can you go pick up Lindsey at the airport without me? I overslept. Sara and I will meet you at the restaurant in an hour.”

 

Mum sighs into the phone. “Well. I guess I can do that. I’m just glad you two made up.”  

 

They talk some more once I lean away from Tegan and back onto my pillow, but that doesn’t keep me from zoning out and staring at her. The hair, the jaw, the lips and lip piercing. She’s beautiful, and in my eyes, she hardly bears any resemblance to me.

 

I’ve always wondered if we weren’t identical would it be easier or harder to be with her. I can see both being true, but I don’t know which one would apply.

 

***

 

Either way, my heart is swollen, and I’m not sure how I feel about that either. The guilt is still there, just not unmanageable yet. And I know that if we begin to talk about it, it will become unmanageable, and that’s just not fair. It’s not fair for me to run every time we start to work through it, and I don’t know what it is about communication that makes everything so difficult. It’s like, if we could spend the rest of our lives with an unspoken agreement between one another that this is how it has to be and sometimes we act on it, I would be perfectly fine. But I know that Tegan would never allow that.

 

She’s different than me. She’s softer, less restrained and less affected by the world around her. Like day and night, our personalities. She doesn’t get very shy, and when she does it only causes her to talk louder and get funnier. In my case, I want to hide in a hole, or behind my sister- and It’s always been like this, she used to protect me for it before it actually started affecting her.

 

Maybe I could at least pitch the idea, I’ll just reiterate that it isn’t a must.

 

She hangs up the phone and tosses it to the foot of the bed before turning over on her side towards me, with her head resting on her hand. We resume our previous actions of staring at each other wordlessly.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” My lisp peaks, giving away the nerves that’s causing my hands to shake as I play with the knicks in her blanket.

 

“No, let’s not. Last night was. . .last night was just forgiveness. We don’t have to talk about anything until New Orleans.” She smiles at me, same crooked lips and loving eyes.

 

“Okay.” It’s quiet, beneath a whisper. “What do you want to do then?”

 

A sly look crosses her face, giving me the benefit of the doubt that whatever she’s about to say—she’s up to no good.

 

“Would you want to, um. . .would you want to take a shower with me?”  

 

So we move to the shower together, and I suddenly become suffocatingly self conscious. Not that Tegan hasn’t seen me nude before, she has. She’s even seen me in the shower countless times growing up, but this is different, and I’m not sure of the way I feel about it.

 

She opens the shower door and steps in, leaving me nervously standing on the tile floor with fumbling hands.

 

Stop panicking, Sara. She won’t take it very well if you panic. Stop panicking.

 

But it’s no use, and my throat constricts as I swallow down the anxiety.

 

“Sare, are you okay?” Her head peeks out of the door, brown hair pushed back and dripping. I focus on the attractive widow’s peak at the top of her forehead, another physical attribute we share. I nod, but find myself unable to look her in the eyes. My arms cross around my torso, hiding my breasts from her despite her familiarity with them. She stares at me, examining my discomfort and presumably deciding how she wants to handle it.

 

“You don’t have to, I won’t be upset.”

 

“No, I- I want to. I just-”

 

“I know. I shouldn’t have jumped the gun like that. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

I nod again, unable to voice the way I feel. Maybe it’s best that we don’t do this yet, and I’m grateful for her understanding.

 

“Just wait in the bedroom, I won’t be long. Then you can get in after me.”

 

“Okay.” She smiles, genuine and slightly disappointed. I carry myself into the bedroom where I can sit and wait for her, the panic subsides eventually, allowing me to breathe again.

 

One day it might be easier.

 

One day.

 

***

 

“Hey Sare?” I hear Tegan ask from the seat next to me, we’re on the bus on the way to the restaurant to meet everyone and we haven’t spoken since the shower incident. It wasn’t and still isn’t awkward, surprisingly, but I’m positive that we both needed to process a few things.

I glance her way, giving her permission to continue.

 

“I want you to be the one to get our place in New Orleans. You have better taste than I do.”

 

My eyebrows shoot high on my forehead and I giggle. “Did you just compliment me?”

 

Her eyes roll, cheeks getting rosy. “Nope. I take it back.”

 

The empty space of the bus fills with our laughter, and in her smile I’m reminded why I’ll love her forever.

 

“This is our stop.” She moves to the aisle as the bus jerks us forward, leading us to the front and out of the door once it comes to a complete stop. The restaurant is only a few blocks down and I spot mum and Lindsey waiting outside for us, laughing about something. Lindsey smiles when she spots us, walking quickly into Tegan’s outstretched arms.

 

“Hi, baby!” Her smile stretches across her lips, and I have to look away as they kiss, not wanting to deal with that quite yet.

 

Mum wraps me up in a hug, then we trade off so I can hug Lindsey and Tegan can hug mum.

“Hey Linds. Where are the boys?” I ask, looking over her shoulder for any trace of our band members.

 

“Jasper and Ted are inside, we were just out here waiting for you. I’m not sure where Johnny is.”

“Oh!” Tegan looks over to us, breaking her conversation with mum. “Johnny messaged me this morning. He spent his vacation in Halifax with his parents so he’s just going to fly and meet us in the city tomorrow.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” I smile, following behind them into the restaurant to join the rest of the crew.

 

**Lindsey**

 

I follow Tegan and Sonia around towards the back of the restaurant with Sara behind me. I’ve missed Tee so much, and knowing how much stress they’ve been put through while on this tour I can only imagine that she misses me just as much. I mean we text and talk every night, but nothing is like being next to each other. Luckily I’m not high maintenance, so I know that this lifestyle that they live shouldn’t affect our relationship too much. I knew that when we began, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck sometimes. Luckily, from what she’s told me, we should get months to spend together after they’re finished with these last few shows before the new record cycle begins.

 

The other night I found myself questioning where our relationship is headed, and I keep coming up short. She practically already lives with me when she isn’t on the road. Is she going to move in and sell her place in Vancouver? Are we going to get that serious? Will we ever get out of the unfamiliarity and excitement of just dating each other?

 

We sit down after the girls give hugs to their band mates, squeezing in close around the table with Tegan to my right and Sonia to my left. Sara takes her spot across from us next to the boys.

 

“Well, are you guys ready to finish the shows?” Sonia asks, pulling a cloth from her purse to wipe her nose.

 

“If it doesn’t turn into another UFC match, totally.” Ted laughs through his heavy Canadian accent, and my eyes look at him in question.

 

“UFC match? Who was having a UFC match?” No one speaks, not even Sonia, and I realize that I wasn’t made aware of something. Next to me, Tegan pinches the bridge of her nose.

 

“Tegan?” I ask, embarrassed to be the only one not in the loop.

 

“Uh oh, someone’s in the shit house.” The boys high five at Jaspers crude statement, I continue to stare at her.

 

“I didn’t want you to worry, LB. Sara and I just got into it and that’s why we took the break. It was no big deal.”

 

“They got into it alright. It was a bloodbath Linds, you should’ve seen how bad Sara fucked up Tegan’s-”

 

“Ted, come on.” Sara interjects, red faced and silencing him. I watch her look back and forth between the two of us nervously, and I’m instantly reminded of what she told me on my couch a couple months ago. “ _You'll pick up on it, that. . .that the only one I allow to hurt her is myself._ "

 

“Sorry, I should have told you.” Tegan winces, and I study her face. She didn’t even mention it to me. How could she not even mention it? I’m not even angry with Sara, disappointed yes but angrier with Tegan for not telling me the full extent of what happened.

 

“Anyways!” Sara speaks loudly, interrupting Tegan and I’s staring contest. She’s definitely going to hear about this later and I think she’s fully aware of that. “Lindsey how was your flight?”

 

“It wasn’t bad, super short and easy. Hey Sara?”

 

“Hm?”

 

I smile mischievously. “I bet you throw a mean right hook. Next time, do you think you could knock some sense into my girlfriend?”

 

The table explodes in laughter.

 

***

 

Tegan and I walk back to her apartment with my arm tight around her waist after departing the restaurant. She’s buzzed, it shows through the way her smile is all gum and the octave she reaches when she speaks. I love it. Tegan after a few beers is always fun, always the light of the night.  

 

We walk the four blocks, and in that distance she becomes quiet. Still smiling, but very quiet.  

 

“I should have told you about our fight.” She speaks, and I can tell through the tone that she’s genuinely sorry.

 

I nod in response, “You should have, yeah.”

 

“But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

 

She grimaces, and thankfully I’m not too angry about it. I rarely get angry about anything these days. Maybe in my twenties I would have reacted harsher towards her, but I’m in my mid thirties and I feel like people spend too much time being angry instead of understanding. There had to have been a reason she didn’t tell me.

 

“Why didn’t you just say something? Was it that bad? I mean, you had every opportunity to tell me, we were even discussing it yesterday morning.”

 

She nods, and I’m the one grimacing this time. “I don’t know, LB. Sara and I, we-” She sighs, trying to find her words.

 

“Sara and I’s relationship for the past eight years has been horrible, and she’s infuriatingly private. She would have never wanted me to tell you that she hit me.”

 

I tighten my grasp around her, unable to think about her being hit, even if it was from her twin.

 

“But you and Sara get into it often I thought? Was it worse this time?”  

 

“We do, and yes it was the worst one we’ve ever had.” She sighs again, “But we haven’t been physically violent with each other like that in a while. She doesn’t even like for me to tell people when we argue, not even Mum.”

 

“I don’t understand why, it’s just a-”

 

“ _We’re twins_ , LB.” I stop walking at the tone in her voice, angry with her for that tone of her voice when I’m just trying to ask questions. “People treat us like we’re- You just don’t understand. I don’t blame Sara for wanting privacy, and I understand where she’s coming from. When we fight, it’s between us, and we try to keep it that way.”

 

“I’m not saying that I don’t respect that. I would just like to know next time something like that happens, it doesn’t have to be that big of a deal.”

 

She stays silent, continuing our walk towards her apartment. I can tell that I’ve said something wrong, so I make sure to not reach out for her hand until she does so first.

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been mean.” Those tired hazel eyes look my way.

 

“It’s okay. Emy warned me that you guys were like this. I didn’t mean to be angry that you didn’t tell me. I just don’t like the thought of her beating up on you is all.”

 

The sigh that comes from her mouth this time is heavy, and I can tell that her mind is running a million miles per hour.

 

“Sara has her reasons. And I mean, I hit her back too. I defended myself, and we’re fixing things. I actually have to talk to you about something.”

 

Anxiety hits my tummy like tar, not knowing where this is headed and hating when Tegan starts off news like that. I give her a glance, willing her to continue.

 

“Sara and I, we have a lot of issues we need to work out. Things haven’t been good between us for a long time and it’s taking its toll, I. . .I almost broke up the band.”

 

My eyebrows hit the top of my forehead in shock. “You what?”

 

Her hand flies up to stop me. “I didn’t. Almost, but I didn’t. I wanted to tell you that after Sara and I get back from the UK at the end of the week, we’ll have a month to spend apart and I was thinking that I could spend that time with you.”

 

“Of course you can.” I smile, “But I don’t know why you would need to talk to me about that.”

 

“Well, because. After that month is over, sometime between the end of September, we’re going to spend the rest of the year alone together in New Orleans. We think that it’s best for us so we can work out the issues we have before another blow out happens. Neither of us want the band to end but things need to get fixed first before we make another record.”

 

I stay quiet for a while, walking next to her as we round the last block before her house comes into view. Her hands are in her jean jacket and she doesn’t say a word. She must think I’m angry with her, but I guess I understand it. Am I disappointed that we won’t be able to spend the holidays together? More than I’d be willing to admit. I get it though, I guess.   

 

“Do you really think that’s what you guys need? Don’t you think that you fight because you spend so much time together?”

 

Tegan looks taken back by my question, so I give her ample time to respond as we near her building. Her fingers fish her keys out of her pocket as we walk up the steps and into through front door after she unlocks it.

 

“Yeah, I do. And I’m not sure if that’s why, we have to figure that out.”

 

“But you guys just got so sick of each other that you had a fist fight, Tegan. Is there really any time to trial and error?”  

 

“It’s not. . .more complicated than that.”

 

“Enlighten me then.” I cross my arms and watch her move to the kitchen to grab another beer from her fridge.

 

“Sara has really horrible communication issues, I wear my heart on my sleeve and act like everything she says is a personal attack. I know it seems strange, but we haven’t been able to really enjoy each other in a long time and I think we’ve lost the respect we’ve always had for one another because we’re always working and always stressed out and we just aren’t on the same playing field anymore. I can’t expect you to understand, I-”  

 

“I do understand. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, that’s all. I don’t want you guys to overcompensate and end up hurting yourselves more.”

 

“It’s not like that, but I appreciate the concern, LB. The whole codependency thing-” She makes a motion with her hands, bringing her fingers together to lock around each other. “it fucks us up sometimes.”

 

And this time it’s both of us who sigh, my eyes fixate on her clenching jaw muscles. “Are you mad?”

 

I study her more before shaking my head as she turns the television on, zoning out at the hockey game in front of her. Her left eyelid hangs heavy, and I feel a pang of guilt and sadness for her. I was supposed to be here to help her ease off some of the stress, not make it worse.  

 

“I understand. And no I’m not necessarily mad. I’m going to miss you though, and I hope you’ll consider at least letting us spend Christmas together. Even if I have to fly to New Orleans, I’ll do it.”

 

“I know you will.” Her tired eyes lift and meet my own worried gaze with a crooked smile. I can’t help but think that something’s on her mind, wearing her down and causing the smile she’s wearing to not meet her eyes. “Thank you for being so understanding and supportive. I thought you would have been mad.” And she pats the space next to her, but I shake my head.  

 

“Come on, let’s get you in bed. You have a long day tomorrow. Let’s cuddle.”

 

She obliges, turning off the game with her remote and getting up to put the near full beer back in the fridge. Her arms wrap about my midsection as we walk into her messy bedroom.

 

“Jesus, did a tornado come through here?” I move to untangle the sheets, butterflies floating up through my stomach from the girly giggle she responds with.

 

“Nope.” My eyes follow her figure as she bends down to untie her shoes. “Just me.” But I’m too focused on the skin exposed to me from her shirt tail riding up, allowing me to see the what looks like traces of red nail marks left over on her back, most certainly not from me. I don’t panic, but do blink a few times to make sure I’m not envisioning it. It’s quite dark in here, so I can’t be sure.

 

She wouldn’t cheat on me. She couldn’t cheat on me, could she? After years of chasing me, it would be so unlike her to ruin it all.

 

Fear fills my blood, if I ask it will sound like I’m accusing, and besides- I don’t think she’s even had the time? She’s been at her mother’s house every night apart from last night from what Sonia told me, and I don’t think Sara or Sonia could lie to me or let me sit there at lunch today if they had knowledge that she’d cheated.

 

But I know I’m not blind. I know what I saw.

 

Stop it Lindsey, stop it. You do this every time. Tegan knows that every relationship you’ve ever been in has ended with infidelity that you didn’t commit, she wouldn’t do something like that. It could be a scratch from numerous things. You do this every time. I repeat the mantra in my head as she slides under the covers, leaving her black t-shirt on over her briefs.

 

I undress, unable to quiet my presumptuous mind, before sliding underneath the duvet and turning my back to her so she can hold me. Her tattooed arm wraps around my midsection— _why does this pillow?_

 

Her pillow smells like Sara. . .Sara’s shampoo, Sara’s spicy cologne, Sara’s all around scent of fresh detergent.

 

Why does her pillow smell like Sara?

 

My mind races, eyes wide open and fixated on the white wall in front of me. Maybe she fell and that’s why there’s four faint scratched on her back spaced evenly apart. Maybe Tegan let her sleep in here while she took the couch to be a good host. I mean, it has to be, right? Something like that can’t be true. But there’s my brain, telling me to push my face a little deeper into the pillow to make sure that it’s Sara’s scent. What if it’s another woman’s who happens to smell like Sara? Fuck. That wouldn’t be… that wouldn’t make sense nor would it be any better. _Or would it?_

 

Stop thinking, Lindsey. Stop thinking.

 

My brain conjures up every instance when I’ve felt subtle tones of something other than sisterly between them. Am I not disgusted? Am I not in shock? Maybe I am in shock, and that’s why I haven’t questioned her yet. But am I disgusted?

 

Tegan’s hand begins the slow circles around my stomach, moving under the cotton of my blouse to rub the skin below my navel, telling me where her brain is at. Fingers begin their descent within the darkness of her bedroom to my underwear, and if I wasn’t laid up on a pillow at the moment—a pillow that smelled like her sister. . .the invitation would get accepted.

 

“Not tonight, Tee.”

 

And suddenly her hand latches onto my hip, turning me over to face her beneath the moonlight peeking through her window.

 

“You’re so tense, baby.” She whispers, and like liquor I’m fixated and a little drunk at the curve of her lips and how close she is to me. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, nothing.” I lie through my teeth. “I’m just really sleepy, is all.”  

 

She hums in agreement. “Okay, let’s go to sleep then.” But her eyes are on mine in the darkness and I can tell she knows something’s off about me, especially if I’m turning down sex. I lean over and attach my lips to hers in a gentle kiss before rolling over and assuming my position as the little spoon.

 

Eventually her breathing evens out and her arm goes lax against my midriff, but I lie there. Wide awake. Mind racing. Eyes glued to the wall in front of me.

 

***

 

The phone rings three times before it is answered from the subject of my call.

 

“Lindsey?” She asks, voice heavy and deepened with sleep. “What’s going on? Why are you calling at four in the morning?”

 

I whimper, watching my tears hit the linoleum of my living room floor between my legs. I’m broken, having been awake and alone for nearly two days straight.

 

I can’t get it out of my head, everything is a puzzle and the parts of the puzzle that makes sense—the parts of the puzzle that I keep piecing together—they have unnerved me to the core.

 

“Tegan. . .” I weep, coughing on my saliva. A noise rustles in the background of the speaker from across the country.

 

“What about Tegan? Is everything okay? Are they okay?”

 

I weep some more. They’re perfectly fine. Perfectly. Fucking. Fine.

 

“She’s cheating on me, Em.” Cries break from my mouth again as I wipe the waterfall from my eyes on the back of my zip up hoodie. “She’s cheating. . .she’s cheating on me.”

 

Emy falls silent save for steady breathing, and I would have almost thought she’d hung up before she responds to my news.

 

“What do you mean she’s cheating on you? With who? How can you be so sure-”

“Don’t play coy, Emy.” I wince at the volume of my own voice. “You know who she’s been with. You know exactly what’s going on.”

 

More silence. Then, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about here, Linds. What are you suggesting?”

 

I hiccup, feeling the sadness leave me with anger in it’s wake. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Or do I need someone else to explain to me why Tegan had scratches covering her entire god damned back? Why her god damned pillow smelled like Sara’s cologne? Why she sounded panicked while asking me if you told who Sara cheated on you with? Or maybe why they’re about to spend an entire fucking three months alone with each other in fucking New Orleans for Christ’s sake! Someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on before I-”

 

She sucks in a breath. “They’re spending three months in New Orleans?”

 

“I swear to God Emy,” the low octave of my voice warns, “If you do not giving me answers, I’ll hang up this phone and it’ll be Sonia’s number that I’ll dial next-”

 

“Wait. Please.” She mimics my octave, giving her own urgent warning. “Don’t do that. Please. I’ll. . .” And I hear a long sigh come from the end of the receptor. “Fuck, okay. Just don’t do that. I’ll tell you everything that I know, though it’s not a lot. . .just please don’t do that. They don’t deserve that, think about what you’re saying, Linds. That would ruin their lives.”  

 

The tactic works. Checkmate. I would never tell their mother, but there’s questions that obviously need answering before I let her off of this phone.

 

“Could I fly in and we talk? I could be there tomorrow. But I’m going crazy in this apartment alone. I swear, I’ll tell you everything I know. Just please don’t call Sonia.” She sighs again, heavy with dismay at my unknowingly empty threat.

 

“I’m not going to tell Sonia.” I can almost feel her take a breath of relief. “You could be here tomorrow?”  

 

“I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll text you my itinerary.” She speaks, the sniffing and weighted tone of her voice telling me that I’ve reopened a wound. And I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, opening up a can of worms that I’ll never be able to close. A can of worms that might eat me alive.

 

“Okay. I’ll pick you up. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

 

She muffles her cries, causing guilt to seap its way into my bones. I should have kept my mouth shut, but instead I begin crying again, with her.

 

“Okay. Bye Lindsey.”

 

“Bye, Em.”

 

***

 

When Emy gets in my car the next day, the sun is beating down on Los Angeles and we both look like women who have just had their hearts broken. If one was to look over into my car while on our drive towards my house, you’d see us both wiping floods from our red eyes. We don’t speak much, the air is too heavy to do so and I’m having to save the last bit of energy I have for the conversation I never should have scheduled. I should’ve just ran, but I couldn’t. I should’ve blocked all of their numbers and never spoken to any of them again and accepted the fact that I would never be able to compete with something like that, but I didn’t. I should have been more disgusted than I am hurt, but I wasn’t.

 

I should have chosen a different option, but I didn’t. And I couldn’t, because I love her.

 

When we sit across from each other at my mahogany table after Emy has taken her bag to the spare bedroom, she produces a white sheet of paper from one of the bags and sets it down face forward in front of me. Addressed to LINDSEY BYRNES, from AMELIA ARTISTS, Inc. This must be something she was given from Nick and Piers.

 

“What’s this?”  

 

Her red eyes find me, laced and layered with guilt and trepidation.

 

“It’s a nondisclosure agreement. As part of Tegan and Sara’s management and long term friend, I’m meant to protect them. And despite how much I don’t think you would ever stoop so low as to talk for publicity, I have to make sure that they’re legally taken care of.”

 

I look up at her in shock. How could she be protecting them after what Sara did to her? With her own twin sister?

 

“It’s simple stuff, really. Stating that you will not interfere beyond personal duties to the band in means of malice or retaliation. Stating that you are binded by contract to keep their personal lives personal unless directed otherwise in expressed consent by one of them. Stating that if taken to court and they won, you will have to pay off their collective debt. Simple stuff.”

 

“And how long does this contract last?” I question, looking up with her through my lashes in curiosity.

 

“Lifetime.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” I fold my arms around my chest as she produces a pen from the same bag.

 

“I have to, Linds. I told you I will tell you anything and everything, but you have to understand that I’m just protecting them. I watched them work their asses off for this career and their livelihood for nearly ten years now, and I could never be the cause for that downfall.”

 

We stare at each other as she takes her seat across from me, bringing the coffee I’ve made her up to her chapped lips to take a sip before speaking again.

 

“You’re my very best friend.” She states, and I relax at the heavy tone. “Not for a million years do I think you would go to the press, I just have to make sure. You deserve every ounce of truth that I can give you, but I just have to make sure.”

 

I grab the pen into my right hand, twirling it around my index finger. My eyebrow lifts. “How do you know I wouldn’t speak to the press?”  

 

“Well, I don’t. Not entirely. I would like to think that you would have already gone if you were going to. I’d like to think that you still love Tegan and you just need to figure things out, I mean… You’re here with me, searching for answers, and part of me thinks… part of me thinks that you’ve taken what you think you know better than either one of them could.”  

 

She sighs, staring down at the paper that rests from its space in front of me.

 

“What do you mean, taking it better than either of them could?” I question, not understanding what the hell she’s talking about or why everything seems so god damn serious all of a sudden.

 

“Sign the paper, Linds.” She sighs again, eyes full of exhaustion and swollen from crying. I uncap the black pen and print my name on the first line, signing and dating the others. She takes the paper and pen from me and prints her name on the line where the witness signs. As soon as the cap is back on the pen and the paper is back in it’s folder and back in her bag, I can feel her shoulders drop with the tension. Suddenly she’s crying again, and my heart breaks with the remains of her facade. Boy, we’ve got ourselves into quite the situation.

 

“I’m sorry I had to make you sign that. I had to sign one years ago when Sara and I started getting serious.” Her fingers wipe beneath her nose, and I can tell that despite the tension dropping, nothing is about to be easy.  

 

“Why did she make you do that? Do they make everyone do that?”

 

“Yeah, they do. Everyone who comes into their lives or are into their close circles. It’s damage control, I guess. Yours was coming, just be glad that it was me who gave it to you. The girls are incredibly awkward when they have people sign them.”

 

“I guess I can understand why. It’s smart business. Have the boys signed one?”

 

She laughs, but it doesn’t sound happy. The laughter is strained and tense, mimicking the air around us. “Of course they have.” We fall silent before she exhales. “I don’t want you to think that I lied when I asked you to sign that. I really do have means to protect them, and I think that you understand. I think that you would be the same way.”  

 

“Don’t project, Emy. I have no idea what is even going on right now, I have no grasp or thought process about anything. I don’t even know what I feel. I just know that my heart is broken. I don’t give a damn who she slept with, I can’t even wrap my head around that right now, what’s killing me is that it wasn’t me. It was supposed to be me, Emy.”  

 

The levee breaks, letting me know that the knot in my throat has became too big for me to swallow anymore.

 

“Can you please just tell me what the fuck is going on?” I plead with her, tears streaming down my face and my hand gripping onto my coffee cup so hard that my knuckles are white.

 

Her cup is sat down on the wood with a soft knock, neither of us have stopped crying. I wonder what they would think if they were to walk in on this right now, if Tegan was to unlock the side door with the key I gave her before she left and find us sitting across from each other at my table. Crying and restless. Has she ever cheated on anyone before? Does she know the damage it causes? Did she even think to tell whoever she was fucking- Did she even think to ask Sara not to leave marks on her, out of respect for me?

 

“Sara was a loving partner, especially when she wanted to be. When I met her, I was about to graduate college and she constantly looked like a woman in love who was going through hell. I’d find her at the coffee shop next to my dorm room, she was always writing things or reading books and sometimes- despite how hard I saw her trying to hide it- she’d have to cry. When I finally got up the courage to buy her a cup of coffee and talk to her, I learned that she had recently moved from Vancouver and she was trying to adjust despite finding it difficult and confusing in a French city. We were the same age, and I’d been in Montreal for nearly five years as well as fluent in the language, so I offered to help her find her way around. It never occured to me to ask what was upsetting her. It took about six months into courting her before she drunkenly explained to me that she had hurt her sister dearly during the move and she was afraid she’d severed something that wasn’t repairable-”

 

“Can you please just tell me what I already know, Emy? I just need you to fucking confirm it so I can move on with my life.” I plead, growing angry with the drawn out explanation as if she thinks she’s going to get tenderness or forgiveness from me because of a sob story.  

 

“Hold on.” Her finger flies into the air, silencing me. “You asked me what I meant when I said what I said earlier. If you’ll be patient, I think I’ll answer everything. Just let me explain what I meant.”

 

I roll my eyes and nod, willing her to continue and sitting back against my chair with a huff.

 

“Sara was always taking spur of the moment flights to Vancouver, claiming it was to go visit her mother for a few days. I never questioned it, or even thought to question it, but she always came back even more heart broken than she was before she left. I eventually met Tegan, who was impressed with my artwork and asked me to join the team as their art director, and you know all of this.” I nod, confirming.

 

“When Sara asked me to be her girlfriend, the visits to Vancouver ended and their relationship became strained. I was constantly walking in on Sara, mid cussing battle on the phone with Tegan, and she’d hang up as soon as she knew I was around. They would have brawls on tour, literal fist fights, and she never explained what they fought about and the subject was always quickly changed. We’ve already had that conversation.” I nod again, watching as she takes another drink of coffee. “When Tegan started talking to you, it got worse. I mean, you saw the way they treated each other in Portland. That was a reality. And I didn’t see the correlation, but as soon as you became serious with Tegan, Sara started slipping away from me. She was drinking heavily, and she was writing and crying a lot. Just like she was when I met her.”   

 

“Because Tegan was with me?” I question from beneath the tears in my eyes. Emy nods. “Well, I assume it was because Tegan was with you. I mean, I’ve had my speculations beforehand but-”

 

“What speculations? Spit it out, Emy. Don’t beat around the bush.”

 

She sighs. “Sara has this bad hang up with Tegan. She always has. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Tegan isn’t the same way, but Sara was always a little more manipulative with her sister. It’s like, on the outside she plays it off like Tegan isn’t as big a part of her as she is, but if you pay attention. . .it’s like she’s fixated on every move Tegan makes. When Tegan moves, she moves. When Tegan talks, she doesn’t hear anything else. When Tegan is hurt, Sara is ready to kill whatever hurt her. Yet if you try to accuse her of those things, she gets angry and defensive and changes the subject. I always found that quite odd. Any normal sibling would be like ‘yeah that’s my sister and I protect my family’ but she doesn’t. She denies it and then does it.”

 

“I’m aware, I’ve seen what that does to Tegan.”  

 

“And that’s the fucked up part. It’s like she can’t control herself and she ends up causing more damage than anyone else in Tegan’s life. It’s like she doesn’t even know what she’s doing half the time. It’s the most complex relationship I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and despite the hurt that Tegan goes through, Sara feels it too, maybe even worse. When they’re not good, Sara’s entire world is fucked. She doesn’t eat, she doesn’t sleep, she drinks her weight in liquor. But I’ve never seen her as ruined as she has been these past six months, since Tegan started seeing you. I’ve never seen someone hurt so bad.”

 

Anger hits me again, “But that doesn’t prove shit to me. That doesn’t prove anything.”

 

Emy stares at me, eyes empty yet telling and haunted. I see her throat bob up and down as if she’s holding something back.

 

“Okay,” She bites. “You want proof?”

 

“That’s why you’re here.” I sigh, closing my eyes at the migraine that’s spread to my temples.

When I open them, fresh tears coat her bloodshot eyes and her bottom lip trembles.  

 

“The night before their show in Glasgow,” Emy grits her teeth, biting back the incessant cries. “Sara got out of our bed at five in the morning after we spent the night drinking. . .thinking that I was asleep, she took our strap on, she walked down the hall and she fucked Tegan with it before coming back, taking it off, and getting back into bed with me.” My head drops, defeated at the information I wish I never asked for. I don’t even hide my face, I let her see the sobs wracking my body. “The next day before their show, Tegan sat down in the chair a little too hard and winced. It took about three minutes of questioning her before I knew everything. And the moment Sara saw that I’d figured them out, she was beating the absolute shit out of her sister.”

 

“She deserved it.” I mutter, wiping at the snot and tears that threaten to cover my face.

 

“No,” Emy whispers, and my eyes shoot up to meet her gaze. “That’s where you’re wrong. Maybe at first I would’ve thought that, but she didn’t. She hasn’t deserved Sara’s treatment in a very long time.”

 

“She cheated on me, Em. She deserves anything that’s coming to her.” My head falls into my hands, defeated and unwilling to fight anymore. How could I stand up for her? How could I defend her?

 

“Is it really even cheating? You know, the other day I was in Sara’s apartment in Montreal to pick up some more of my belongings. I got to our bookcase to grab my books and magazines, and I don’t know how I didn’t catch it before. Most of the books she has on there have something to do with incest.” She whispers the word, and I wince with her at the way it sounds like dirt, like something ugly. “But not in the way that she could be fantasizing about it, she studies it. There’s essays, and novels about the repercussions of it, and stories about the psychology behind it.”

 

“What are you getting at, Emy?”

 

“I-I don’t think that it’s something that they’ve asked for. I don’t think that it’s even a choice, you know? To love each other. I think it’s just there, and it’s always been there, and they don’t know how to deal with it so they hurt each other. I don’t even think that it’s a conscious decision to… to need one another like that. They just do, it’s like they don’t know how to exist separately. I think that it’s chemical, possibly even uncontrollable.”

 

“That doesn’t mean they have to act on it, or cheat. It doesn’t excuse that. They’re grown women, if they want to be together then they should just do that without bringing others into it. Without hurting people.” I feel my blood boil beneath my skin at what she’s done to me.

 

“Now you’re projecting. Could you imagine being in that situation? Incest in Canada carries a fourteen year prison sentence. Could you imagine feeling that, and not being able to act on it? Don’t they have a shot at a normal life with someone else?”

 

My eyes shoot open in anger. “Then they shouldn’t fucking cheat on people, Em! Fuck! If they are going to be with other people then they need to learn how to control it! I’m not even disgusted by the fact that they’re sisters, I mean come on, they’re twins for Christ sake. That doesn’t matter to me. Will I ever be able to compete with that? Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be able to compete with that if they weren’t fucking each other. But I’ve accepted that already. You think I didn’t catch the looks? You think I didn’t see the way Tegan’s world is in order when Sara is around? I might have needed the second opinion, the proof, but don’t think I was blind. I’m hurting, Emy. . .she laid down with someone who wasn’t me for fuck’s-”

 

Emy stands, chair falling back and both hands clutching against the edge of my table. “The sex shouldn’t have broken your heart, Lindsey. I’m sorry to tell you, but they were never ours, Lindsey. They have never been ours. They’ve never been anyone else’s but each others. Don’t be so naive when I’m sitting here across from you, telling you that this is like a disease to them. This is their lives, and sure—they love us—but you need to begin wrapping your head around the fact that Tegan may love you. And she does love you. But it will always be Sara. It has always been, Sara. Either you are going to have to accept that or you need to find another girlfriend.”

 

Her pupils move between my own, and the realization hits me with force that makes me nauseous. She’s right. She’s fully right, I couldn’t have been any more blind. To think that I was her number one. How could I be? She already has everything I could offer her in another person. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, that doesn’t mean we don’t have a shot.  

 

“I don’t want another girlfriend.” I state, eyes darting back and forth as my mind races a million miles an hour at her words.

 

Emy pulls her chair up from the ground, resuming her place across from me with arms crossed around her small chest.

 

“Then like the rest of us,” She weeps, “you need to start being comfortable with the love that Tegan has left to give to you and start protecting them.”

 

**Tegan**

 

The bus rolls towards Edinburgh, heading in the direction of our first of the last three shows we’ll play in the UK. Tomorrow is Manchester, where we’ll spend the night before flying over to Dublin, Ireland. I toss in my bunk, unable to get a moment of sleep and groaning when I see the clock show 2 a.m. I shouldn’t have chosen this bunk, it’s too close to the TV room where Sara is blasting some horrible reality television show.

 

Fuck it. I might as well join her if she’s going to keep me up.

 

I unlock my black out curtains and step out into the narrow hallway, clad in my loose boxers and Sara’s red t-shirt that she gave to me when we were in Portland. Down the hallway, my hand reaches up to push back back the wooden partition separating the areas of the bus.

 

“Hey, Tegan.” Ted’s tired eyes find mine from his space next to Sara. They both lift back to the television mounted on the wall as something makes them laugh.

 

“Oh hey, Ted.” But my eyes drift over to Sara as I take the seat next to her. She gives me a sweet tired smile beneath the edge of her glasses. My palms become clammy. It’s my understanding that she is fully aware of what her glasses do to me, and the effects are only heightened beneath the low lighting of the room and the way it touches her skin.

 

We haven’t spoken much since we got to Scotland, and part of me thinks that it has less to do with how busy we’ve been and more to do with the fact that neither of us really know what to say. It’s that awkward time period between where we are and where we want to be, and I’m unsure of how the next week will go. In fact, I’m quite unsure how any of it will go. Part of it, given my neuroticism, makes me want to be back home with Lindsey so I can be at ease and not stressing over simple things like how to approach conversation with my sister. But I know that if I were there, I would be wishing I were next to Sara instead. So I don’t let it get to me.

 

Ted yawns and stretches his back from his space next to Sara, and the yawn spreads through each of us like a placebo effect.

 

“Well, I’m gonna go ahead and get some rest. Sleep tight, guys.”

 

“Sleep tight, Ted.” I give him a smile that matches my twins. When he exits, he shuts the partition, and a heavy silence falls over us. Sara pushes the lense of her rimless glasses back up on her nose and focuses on the TV.

 

“So. . .” I start, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. Sara looks over at me with an expressionless gaze, albeit I can’t help but to think she looks happier. Content, even, with our proximity. Something I am definitely not used to seeing on her.

 

“Yes?” She asks, and my eyes fixate on the way the corner of her mouth turns up, confirming my observation of her contentment.  

 

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry if I interrupted you guys.”

 

“You didn’t interrupt us, Tee.” Her lips lift again, making me want to kiss the smile from her face.

 

“Actually now that you’re back here, I wanted to show you something before I buy it. Ted kind of walked in while I was browsing so I wouldn’t mind your opinion.”

 

My eyebrow lifts in confusion, she wants my opinion? But I chose to stay quiet while she leans beneath her feet to produce her bookbag, pulling her MacBook out of it. It powers on, showing a screen with a house listed on it once she types in her password.

 

“I’ve picked out a few choices for our time in Louisiana. Tell me which one you like the most.”

 

And this makes my face light up, I’m grinning from ear to ear, heart filling with joy that she’s actually became invested in my plan to make it all better. It’s an anomaly to me, seeing Sara put forth effort into me. My trust is regaining for her with every instance that she proves to me she wants me.

 

She moves through three listings, showing me their amenities and the high ceilings, all of them complete with massive windows and swimming pools.

 

“Can we afford any of these, Sara?”

 

She giggles, lighthearted. “It won’t be a problem. I haven’t been spending much since this new record cycle and since Emy’s going to be chipping in on rent for the second house, I’ll be able to manage. If you can’t fully go in half with me, that’s fine.”  

 

“No, no.” I wave her off with my hand. “I will be. Jeremy doesn’t make me pay rent, remember? I was just making sure you were comfortable. I’m not the one with two mortgages.”

 

“No, but you have an incredible taste for expensive clothes and alcohol.”

 

“That’s true.” My gums show at her truthful observation. “Well, I’ve cut back on my drinking, so.”

 

I watch as her eyebrows lift, shocked at the statement of my impending sobriety.

 

“Really? Wow. I guess we both are going through changes.”

 

My head nods as I smile at her, focusing back on my choices. The first house is a luxury one bedroom in downtown, with an open concept design. Floor to ceiling windows and a stainless steel kitchen that gives me anxiety from the lack of privacy. The second one is another one bedroom modern-ish home, less open than the first but just as spacious. High ceilings, white walls, brick fireplace and a bedroom that’s well lit from a massive floor to ceiling window that overlooks the pool and outdoor fire pit in the backyard that’s hidden off by tall trees. It’s cozy, and welcoming. Definitely a possible option. The third one is a nice victorian-style two bedroom, with chandeliers and wrap around staircases. It’s quaint and cozy, but not what I picture when I think of a place I’d like to spend vacation. But I can see how Sara would be attracted to it.

 

“I like the second one, it’s perfect.” I click a button on her computer that puts us back on the listing.

 

“I love it.” I repeat, smiling at my visions of Sara and I, relaxing by the pool and fire-pit. Sharing a bed that’s illuminated beneath the moonlight. Then it strikes me, she’s chosen mostly one bedrooms.

 

“It’s a one bedroom.” The statement comes out of my mouth before I have time to think of what I’m saying.

 

“It is.” She clarifies. “I didn’t know if you were comfortable with that, that’s why I also gave us options of a two bedroom. The rest of the two bedrooms were either way too expensive or not offering month to month leases. Do you want me to keep looking?” She rambles on, anxious and soft spoken from the fear of me being uncomfortable.

 

“No, no I’m okay with that. As long as you are, I mean. . .I can always sleep on the couch if you’re not-”

 

“No. I am.” Her eyes meet mine, and my palms are sweaty again. “I am.” She reinstates.

 

“Okay.” Our eyes stay locked, I feel the blush creep up on my chest. Avoiding sex is going to be quite difficult now, but if she’s committed then I think I can be too. “The second one then.”  

 

“Okay.” But she stays unmoving, not making a motion to lease it. She inches towards me hesitantly, and I feel the pull winding my heart in high speed. Fight or flight reflexes going off on whether or not kissing her in a bus full of people is a smart idea. We can’t really afford to be found out by anyone else. But like always, my body makes the decision for me, so the moon meets the sun and my mouth curls around her bottom lip in a kiss so needy that my eyes shut in pain.

 

We don’t make a sound, but my ears are on high alert to everything around us. She moves, tilting her head and sliding her tongue through my parted lips far enough to make me overwhelmed at the taste. Coffee and honeysuckle, just like I knew it would be.

 

A door slams on the TV and we’re on opposite ends of the small leather couch within seconds, chests heaving and heavy breathing filling the space between us.

 

“Fuck.” She mutters, but my muscles are so constricted that my eyes have to clench together.

 

“It’s just the television, Tee. We’re okay. Open your eyes.” So I do, realizing that we’re still in the dark and we’re safe from an audience. I tear up slightly from the panic, but it’s not enough to spill over.

 

Sighs come from both of us before Sara’s girly laughter filters through my eyes. I stare at her like she’s insane. What kind of sadistic exhibitionist maniac laughs at a time like this?

 

“You bet your ass the next time we tour, if we can afford it, I’m making Piers gets up a separate bus for the crew.”

 

**Lindsey**

 

Emy and I sit on the hood of my car, overlooking a heat covered Los Angeles as the sunset paints orange and purple hues across the landscape. It’s my favorite spot to go to see the sunset and stars, something I rarely get to take in from the light pollution within the city. She brings the lighter to the base of the bong and strikes it, taking a deep inhale before lifting the bowl and sucking the rest of the smoke through the tunnel. I laugh as she violently coughs, looking around to make sure we’re still alone at the overlook on the mountain.

 

“Shit that’s strong, LB.” She laughs, coughing so hard that her eyes water.

 

“You betcha, best cannabis in Los Angeles County.” I laugh, bringing the mouthpiece up to my lips and repeating her ministrations. I don’t cough, being used to the way the strong smoke feels in my lungs.  

 

After I place the bong back in the car and return to Emy, I join her by laying back against the hood and staring up at the cirrus clouds painted across the sky like brush strokes. The high is setting, but not intense enough to make me feel out of it. Just how I like it. We lie still for a long while, in our own collective heads, before I notice Emy sniffling next to me. Turning my head against the glass of my windshield, I watch the moisture trail down her cheeks.

 

“I miss her so much.” She whispers, and I feel that. My hand reaches over to hers in a friendly grasp, comforting the pain that I know is resting deep within her heart from the heartbreak. “I didn’t want to leave her. Had we not already been in such a bad place, I wouldn’t have. I wasn’t ready for it to be over.”  

 

“You wouldn’t have left her?” I question, letting go of her hand and returning it to my stomach.

 

“Of course not.” She sniffs the tears away, eyes bloodshot from the pot. “I had already been suspected something was going on for years. We just weren’t happy anymore. Are you going to stay with Tegan?”

 

The question makes me think. “I don’t know, Em. I want to, I mean. I don’t even know if I consider what she did as cheating anymore. Sara is practically her, so. I don’t know.”

 

“You should.” Emy states, matter-of-factly. “Tegan does love you.”

 

“But not in the way that she loves Sara.” I return, giving a deep exhale in the dry heat of the ending summer.

 

“It isn’t really a competition, Linds. Can you expect her to love anyone the way she loves someone that shares her identity? Would you have thought it as a competition if you weren’t her girlfriend?”

 

I sit with that for a moment, considering her suggestion. “No, I guess I wouldn’t have. You’re right.” And we both sigh again, looking at each other. “You said you were suspecting of something going on, did you ever suspect that it was with Tegan?” Her head nods immediately at my question. Shocking me.  

 

“I did, yeah. There relationship was more like a marriage than ours ever was, yet we were the ones who were actually married. She never looked at me in the way she looked at her, and it’s like… she was never calm until Tegan was around. That wasn’t normal for siblings, not even for siblings, not even for the twins that I’ve known despite how hard Sara tried to convince me of that reason. The secretiveness of it all, too. It’s like Tegan was something so protected to her, no one else was allowed to get close to that. I don’t know, I could never compete although I never tried to.”

 

“How do I deal with that, though?” I whisper back to her, wishing I’d smoked more than I did.

“I think that’s something you should’ve considered before getting involved with Tegan. Being with one of them is having to be with the other, you know?”

 

“I did consider it, trust me. I knew that they were close. I just didn’t know they were that close.”

 

Emy laughs, “Yeah. Even though I suspected it, it definitely came as a shock to me to actually have it proven. I just can’t get Tegan’s face out of my head when she found out that it was our strap on. I’ve never seen someone look so broken, I don’t even think I was that broken. She just kept repeating How could you over and over again. She vomited like eighteen times in the trash can.”

 

“Jesus.” I whisper, twirling my thumbs together and picturing her face during the entire fiasco. “You know she spent an entire week in a hotel room in Scotland after you guys came home? Sonia told me that the other day. She also passed out in the airport. Sonia said she looked like a man had beaten her.”

 

Emy winces. “Yeah. It was ugly. Sara’s cheekbones were bruised for like three days. She hit Tegan so hard I thought she’d broken her nose in half. You said she was alone over there for a week?”  

 

I nod, looking back over to her resting figure.

 

“I’m surprised she didn’t try anything.” I wince at what she’s suggesting. “Sara wasn’t well off either. She didn’t sleep until Sonia beckoned her to Vancouver. She wouldn’t eat anything, she didn’t shower. God,” Emy groans. “I was so mean to her. I kept throwing her shit around while packing and I barely said a word to her. She was on that plane to Vancouver so fast, I didn’t even see her pack.”  

 

“Why were you mean? Were you upset at what she’d done?”

 

“No.” Emy states. “That didn’t bother me much. Like I said, I. . .I don’t even think that I can consider it cheating, I mean. . .I was upset at a lot of things. Angry that she didn’t tell me and I had to find out like that. Angry that she didn’t fight for the band to continue and I was practically out of my main job. Angry that she didn’t fight harder for our relationship. Angry at how she’d treated her sister. That especially. She doesn’t see how much Tegan adores her, and I figure that if no one else can love her like that, why in the hell doesn’t she accept it? Why would she throw that away? People spend their entire lives looking for someone to admire them and need them in the way that Tegan does. It just seemed like she was wanting to be hurt, and that’s not okay to me. Sara victimizes herself and then wonders why she’s alone, I’ll never understand it.”  

 

We fall into more silence, before Emy continues. “I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s going to take forever for you to understand in the way that I do, but I’m happy that they’re trying to mend things. I want what’s best for them both.”  

 

I shake my head, “It’s not that I don’t want them to be happy, I do. Tegan’s happiness means everything to me. I just. . .I don’t know if I can get over them actually sleeping together. That’s a lot to understand, you know? That’s intense. I mean. . .I keep going back and forth on whether or not it’s wrong or whether or not it isn’t because their grown and consenting and practically the same person, I just never would have imagined that I’d have to share Tegan with anyone, and I’m not sure if knowing that it’s with Sara makes it better or worse.”

 

She shrugs, not knowing either. I feel defeated, and completely at a loss on what I want to do about the situation.

 

“But I don’t think that’s really up to me.” I continue, “Like you said yesterday. Either I get used to it or I move on. And I’m not sure which one I think I want to do. I don’t want to lose her, but I’m not even sure how I want to approach her when she comes home. I could barely look at her the day she left. What did you do when you found out? What do you think I should do?”

 

Emy giggles, voice low and eyes drooping. “Man, what a question.” She giggles again. “I don’t really know, Linds. I can’t really remember what I did. I think I was too worried about Tegan’s face and Sara dying from an asthma attack to even really think about it. Then Tegan was sobbing in front of me and repeating over and over that if I had any questions or needed anything explained that she would answer them, and I couldn’t even move or respond so she left. Now I wish that I would’ve spoken up because I’d like to know if all of my theories and suspicions over the past few years have been right. It just wasn’t the right time.”

 

I grab a cigarette out of my purse from the ground beneath my car and light it, handing it over to Emy when she reaches for it. She takes a long draw before blowing out the smoke and continuing, “I think you shouldn’t tell her that you know.” I grab the cigarette from her outstretched hand, watching as her eyes light up as if she’s thought up a plan. “You know what? I’m serious, don’t tell her. Not yet. Let’s tell them that you know and asks the questions we want to ask once they’ve gotten their relationship secure. I think we deserve that, but I don’t think we should deprive them of the chance to fix themselves and if you tell her now, they’ll both go running in opposite directions and they’ll never stand a chance.”

 

“And how do you suppose we do that?” I ask Emy, leaning back on one arm above the city lights.

 

“We could visit them in New Orleans. The confirmation email of the house Sara leased got sent to her email today, I think she forgot that her emails come to my phone. We could pop in and sit them down, talk it all out.”

 

I nod my head, taking another draw off of the butt before handing it over. “I think that’s a plan. That gives me a couple of months to be forced into being okay with it and think about all I have to say.”

 

Emy laughs, “I’m going to write a questionnaire.” Her fingers move the rim of her glasses to the edge of her nose, mockingly holding an imaginary sheet of paper in front of her. “Sara, is it true that you wrote I Was Married about Tegan? Is that why you pause after the word born? Because you were actually talking about Tegan?”

 

Laughter fills the night air around us, we laugh so hard that our hands clutch at our strained stomachs.

 

“You know,” I speak once the giggles have been let out. “For two of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, they sure don’t fuckin’ hide it well. While Tegan’s staying with me for a month, I’m going to text you anytime she even slightly gives it away.”

 

“Nope.” she laughs again. “They sure don’t, Lindsey. And I can’t wait to hear about it.”

 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! 
> 
> If you didn't get my message on Tumblr (my user has changed to quintessentialdreams), Waves Know Shores is still going to be updated regularly every few months. Just needed a little hiatus because I have many many things going on in my daily life that require my attention unfortunately. 
> 
> I still love each and every one of you and I hope you can accept my apology for being absent with this update. Thanks for following along on this journey with me. The soundtrack to chapter six is small, but consisting of primarily:  
> 1\. She's Not Him by Miley Cyrus  
> 2\. I Found by Amber Run  
> 3\. Waves Know Shores by James Blake  
> 4\. Bad Woman by Lykke Li  
> 5\. Unthinkable (cover) by City and Colour  
> 6\. Need It by Half Moon Run
> 
> This chapter was edited quickly, all mistakes are my own.  
> -N

Tegan

The plane touches down at LAX, and I despise the way my sister laughs at me as my hand reaches out to grasp onto hers when it hits the ground and bounces back into the air before hitting the ground again. Sara didn’t want to go back home to Montreal, so she’s decided to spend some time with mum on vacation in northern California for a few weeks after mum arrives in Los Angeles tomorrow. The summer is coming to an end, and mum will have to return to school where she’s a counselor at the beginning of September, so it only took a few minutes of convincing to make her take the vacation. 

Tour ended smoothly, but I’m thankful it’s over. This album cycle has undoubtedly been the most stressful time of my life thus far, and I’m ready to put it behind me so I can focus more on the things that matter most before the next cycle starts, Sara and Lindsey. 

After we drag our tired bodies off the plane and into the terminal, my Blackberry buzzes in my front pocket. I read the message with an eye roll. 

“Lindsey isn’t going to be able to pick us up, we’ll have to get a cab.” 

Sara’s brows furrow, “Did she say why?” 

“Yeah, she and her friend woke up late so they have to get ready so she can take her friend to the airport.” 

“Did she say what friend?” Sara asks, barely paying attention while looking around for the closest airport Starbucks. 

“Nope. I didn’t know she was having someone stay with her, either. Weird.” 

I watch as my sisters face lights up once the coffee chain is spotted, “Yeah, that is weird. Come on, Tee. It’s over here.”  
We hold our coffees between our thighs as the taxi drives us around the city, blaring awful music from the radio. I roll my eyes again when I notice he’s taking the long route to Lindsey’s house in order for the fare to go up. 

I throw him a twenty once he parks on the street, muttering a thank you and growing even more pissed off once I realize that he isn’t going to help us grab the heavy luggage out of the trunk. We cross the quiet road with bags in tow, and I spot a head of light brown hair duck into the side door. I’m not sure who that is, Lindsey’s hair is red and the last person I’ve seen with that haircut is-

“Fuck.” Sara mumbles. “That’s Emy.” 

My world comes to a violent stop, causing me to lock up in panic and drop the handles of my suitcases. I look to Sara in a state of alarm, and she swallows down the anxiety and smiles a timid smile at me. 

“Act normal Tegan. Don’t freak out until we-” 

“Hi baby! Let me help you!” Lindsey calls from the steps once she spots us. Fuck. “Hey, Sara. Did you guys have a good last week of tour?” 

“Sara, go inside. I’ll be there in a second.” I set my jaw and turn towards my approaching girlfriend. She steps up to kiss me, but her lips meet the side of my cheek instead. 

“Why the fuck is she here? You shouldn’t have brought her here.” I point towards the house, bending over to pick up my luggage. I’m fuming, absolutely fuming, and I need something to excuse the nervous blush that’s covered my cheek. If Emy has told her anything, not only can I file a lawsuit, but I can blame her story on wanting to ruin our lives after a rough break-up. “Sara was having a good day.” 

My feet carry themselves past her shocked figure as I try to catch up with Sara before she has to deal with this alone, but a hand around my bicep prevents me from moving. Lindsey turns me around, eyes looking up at me in a way that breaks my heart and reminds me to not be an asshole, before I watch her head shake as she sets her ground. 

“You don’t get to do that. Don’t ever tell me who I can and cannot be around, I’m a grown woman. And need I remind you that Sara was the one who cheated, Emy needed a friend.” I gulp at the brutal honesty of her words. “We tried to get up in time to miss you guys, out of sheer respect, but I don’t think that Sara is the one who needs comfort right now.” 

My head drops, feeling ashamed at the way I acted. “I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want her to have to deal with this today.” I turn back to the house where Sara is walking up the steps as Emy opens the door. I see them share a look, but I’m unable to tell what else is going on because Lindsey is kissing my cheek again, muttering “Apology accepted.” 

Lindsey follows Sara into the house once I give her a proper kiss, and I follow after her, stopping when the door shuts behind Lindsey just as Emy is leaning up and out of the car from putting her bags in. My chest is heaving as I take two steps up to her, finger sandwiching between her breastbone and tears in my bloodshot eyes. 

“I swear to God if you told her one fucking word-” Her hands fly up in surrender.

“I didn’t say a thing, Tegan. Calm down. I didn’t say a thing.” 

Then I realize that she’s here, the woman I called my best friend for eight years, the woman that I trust, the woman that loves Sara and I and who had her heart broken because of us. And she smells the same. Looks the same too despite losing a little weight. And I break down from missing her. 

Arms are around my shoulders as she hugs me, pressing our bodies together in a way that makes me cry harder because I wish things were different. 

“Oh.” The door to the house shuts, and Emy and I both look up as we see Sara standing there, arms crossed around her chest and looking at us like her heart hurts too. I watch tears fall from Emy’s eyes as she regards her ex girlfriend, complete with a look of forgiveness. Suddenly she’s wrapping Sara in a hug too, and I watch as Sara wraps her frail arms around her ex in a shocked display of affection. It takes about two seconds for Sara’s eyes squeeze shut and the waterworks to start up, so I excuse myself into the house so they can have some privacy. 

Lindsey stands at the kitchen sink, sipping coffee and looking through the window at their hugging figures with a pleased smile on her face. I shake my head and move to pour myself some more coffee next to her when it dawns on me. 

“You didn’t oversleep!” I whisper-scream. “You shit! You planned this! When is Emy’s actual flight?!” 

She smiles even bigger, giving a gentle shrug of her shoulders with a devious glint in her eyes. 

“Her flight leaves tonight at 8 pm.” 

 

Sara

“I’ve missed you so much.” I weep into her shirt collar, leaning up on my tippy-toes to give her a proper embrace. 

“Me too, Sare.” She mumbles. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.” We pull away from each other, and Emy uses her thumbs to wipe underneath my eyes. Sorry is all I can keep repeating, because I’m not capable of saying more, so I pray to the god above that she doesn’t go searching from an explanation from me. 

“Apology accepted. Hey,” Her eyes dart to our surroundings, making sure no one is eavesdropping. She lowers her voice anyways, “I know what there’s a lot of other things that I need to say, but most importantly before anything else I want you to know that I ultimately care about your happiness, and I was pleased to find out that you and Tegan are going to be spending some alone time together. Maybe one day we can all sit down in private and talk.” 

But my face screws up in confusion, how did she-

“Lindsey told me right after you guys left for the UK. And your emails are still sent to my phone so I got the confirmation earlier this week about the house renting.” 

Suddenly I’m embarrassed, feeling the blush creep it’s way onto my chest and face as I stay silent. I can’t even talk about Tegan and I to Tegan, there’s no way in hell it’s about to happen with my ex in public, so I do what I’m best at- I change the subject. 

“So when are you flying out? Am I keeping you from your flight? Do you guys need to go?” I worry, looking in the backseat of Lindsey’s Prius where she’s stuffed her belongings. 

“No, no. I don’t have to be at the airport until 6, I don’t board until 8. I was thinking you guys would want to go grab lunch before I go. We don’t have to talk about anything serious, we can just catch up and fuck around like old friends, if you’d like that.” 

“I’d love that.” I state, giving her my best crooked smile despite wanting to throw up. “Wait, if you don’t leave until 8 then why did Lindsey say that-”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Emy giggles. “She did it to me too, sneaky bitch. I didn’t think you guys would be here until tomorrow morning, she didn’t tell me otherwise.” 

We laugh at Lindsey’s mediating, despite being slightly manipulative- she knew that we needed it and I find that ironically hilarious. 

“She is a sneaky bitch, isn’t she?”

 

Lindsey 

The month with Tegan progresses with ease, despite my constant cycle of thoughts and the high alert I’m put on any time Sara is brought up. She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her, and she makes it easy for me to believe that I’m the primary cause of that happiness, though I know I’m not the only occupant of her mind, of the responses in her brain that brings that happiness to the surface.

We go on adventures every chance we get where I can squeeze in time between bookings. I take her to nearly every local spot that I know of, she attends one of my family summer barbeques, and we make love frequently. It is never rushed, she is always there- responsive, never leaving me to question whether or not she’s present in that moment with me when we are inside of each other. Sometimes I even forget to wonder if she’s imagining it to be Sara beneath her, yet sometimes I’m not so lucky. 

Tonight we find ourselves on a dinner date at a Greek restaurant in the city, and I can’t take my eyes off of her smile and the way the light draws attention to the glint in her eyes from the floor to ceiling windows around us. This place is one of my favorites, and judging by how Tegan keeps looking around us, I’d say that it’s one of her favorites now too. We order liquor drinks with water once the attractive server makes his way over, and Tegan’s eyes light up once the drink is placed in front of her and she takes her first sip. 

“Right?” I giggle, sipping from the green straw of my Manhattan. “It’s surprisingly cheap too, not bad for a fancy restaurant.” 

She nods, but I zone in on the way the silver ball of her labret piercing is pulled back against her skin. Telling me that she’s playing with it from the inside, also telling me that she’s nervous about something. Tegan is an open book once you get to know her, she has parts of her that are complex, but her body language typically gives off exactly what she’s feeling if you pay attention. 

“You’re nervous about something.” I state, taking another sip when her eyes dart towards me. “Spit it out, Tee.” 

She laughs, throwing her hands up in the air from exasperation. “Women. I can’t hide anything.” 

The irony. My inside voice tells me, damn she doesn’t know how right she is. Then suddenly she’s reaching next to her into the bookbag I loaned her and retrieving a white sheet of paper that I’m all too familiar with. Fuck. 

“I wanted to quickly throw this at you because I’m horrible with timing and if I don’t get it over with now, I’ll never get around to it.” 

“What’s that babe?” I feign ignorance, taking a sip of water to combat the blush. Fuck. What if Piers or Nick tell her that they already have a copy of my signature? Fuck. 

Okay, think Lindsey. Think. 

“Hold that thought, Tee. I have to go pee really quickly. I’ll be back in a second.” And she tries to argue, understandably wanting to get it over with and trying to rush through it, but before she has the opportunity to protest I’m grabbing my purse and out of my chair. When I get into the single stall bathroom, I quickly lock the door and sit on the sink counter before yanking my phone out of my hands and dialing Emy’s number. 

“Hey LB, I’m in a consultation so make it fast.” I roll my eyes and listen as she apologizes to her client. 

“Tegan’s making me sign another NDA. What do I do? Can you ask Nick and Piers not to tell her that they’ve already received a copy?” 

“Fuck.” Emy groans, “Yes that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll call Nick and come up with something if he asks why I gave it to you instead of Tee. That’s so funny, though.” 

I relax, letting my shoulders drop as I exhale. “Thanks Em, And no it’s not funny at all, asshole. You were completely right about how awkward they are.” She gives a throaty laugh, the kind that makes everyone around her smile.

“No problem, I’ll call you later okay?” 

“Okay, bye.” 

I return to my girlfriend, who’s impatiently tapping her foot against the concrete and looking up at me with a smile as I return. The paper lays on my side of the table with an uncapped pen on top of it. 

“Sorry, so what’s this?” My eyes study the words as if it’s my first time reading them. 

“Oh nothing major, just a non-disclosure agreement for Sara and I. We give them to literally everyone so don’t feel pressured, please.”

The idea to tease her and have a little fun pops up in my head. “Oh, neat. What’s it for? Do I have to sign it?” 

Tegan’s eyes dart around the room in search of answers or a distraction, and I can tell that no one has probably questioned this whole process before. She coughs and waves it off, “Like I said, nothing serious. Sara and I just think that because we’re in the public eye and we like to keep our personal lives personal, this is the best way to make sure we can do that. I mean, I don’t… we don’t think we’re famous or anything, but our fans can be intense… so, yeah. If you could just sign where it says to sign… that’s all I’ll need and we can forget this ever happened because it’s quite embarrassing.” 

I smile back at her, playfully twirling the plastic pen around my fingers. 

“Babe, come on.” My voice hikes, feigning shock. “Do you really think I would do something like that? What would I do, release a sex tape or naked pictures or something?” 

Tegan coughs again on her water, clearly caught off guard. “Nope, not at all. It’s just something Nick and Piers asked us to do with our close friends and family.” 

“But isn’t there supposed to be a witness around? Who’s going to sign the witness part?” 

She stalls, eyes locking on the paper as her brain turns. “Well, I didn’t think that far ahead. Sara typically gives these to people and either Emy or someone from the crew is around. Let me call Nick and ask him what he wants me to do-”

“No need!” I interrupt her, voice a little too high and too panicked in a way that causes her to give me a strange look. Emy might have not had the chance to get in touch with Nick, and that sounds like an absolute recipe for disaster because there’s no way I would be able to explain myself out of that one. I laugh my backfired plan off, picking up the pen and signing where I’ve already signed before handing the paper and pen back to her with a smile. 

Thankfully she joins me in laughter, putting the cap back on the pen and securing the document back into her bag. 

 

Tegan

We crash through the door of her house in a fit of drunken laughter with our hands locked. Our cab driver was clearly not impressed with our backseat tongue hockey, and I would have never allowed Lindsey to coerce me into that if I weren’t eight beers deep. We’re less than one week away from Sara and I going to New Orleans, and I wouldn’t deny to anyone that Lindsey won’t be missed in my absence. And it’s so unfortunate, you know? To know that if Sara wasn’t… if Sara wasn’t it… if Sara wasn’t the one that my soul had already selected outside of my control, I would marry Lindsey tomorrow. She’s so intelligent… so incredibly smart, and fucking hilarious. Talented too. Not to mention beautiful. 

But she’s not her, she never will be, never could be.

And that’s something that should be unfortunate for me. It’s not that I’m not in love with her. I am very much in love with her, as much as I think I’ve ever loved anyone else. But it’s not the same. Sara transcends existence for me. What she is to me transcends need, and want, and desire. It transcends any bond I’ll ever be capable of sharing with another human. So no matter how much I might love someone else, or want someone else, or have desire for someone else… it just doesn’t amount. For either of us. 

Lindsey twirls along as she leads me to her bedroom, eyelids low and mouth telling me with a crooked smile how much she belongs to me, and I accept that. What other choice do I have? 

In a lot of ways, Sara is right when she expresses how important it is for us to have relationships with people who aren’t each other. What other choice do we have? Spending the rest of our lives in solidarity, trying our hardest to act like the lack of normality wouldn’t drive us crazy? Sara’s right, but it still doesn’t make it any less difficult to be with someone else that isn’t her, and that’s something that’s been sitting heavy on my heart for days now. 

I haven’t seen Sara’s face in nearly a month, and I think that missing her is getting in the way of me fully enjoying my last week here with Lindsey. I hate that, despite having no alternatives, no ways to make the feeling of need lessen… and that feeling of need is the unstoppable force, but I am the immovable object. 

“Let’s dance. I want to dance.” I hear her say, and she moves to her iMac in the corner of her bedroom to turn a playlist on. 

Our hands intertwine as I cup her small body against mine, and we rock back in forth beneath the sunset shining through her window to Come Away With Me by Norah Jones. It’s sweet, something so sweet that it makes me emotional, causing me to drop my head onto her shoulder as we sway. 

“I love you, Tegan.” She whispers, running her hands along my spine. 

But it’s not Sara, and her hands don’t feel like Sara, and she doesn’t smell like Sara. So maybe I’m wrong for it, but the “I love you too” that I return to her sounds nothing like it should in my head, because I’m not in the arms of who my head says I should be in the arms of. And then I’m On Fire by Bruce Springsteen comes on, so I have to take a step away from her because it’s all just a little too much and of course the only song Sara and I have ever verbally dedicated to each other comes on through the speakers. 

“Tee?” Lindsey whispers as soon as she sees the trails wetting my high cheekbones. “What’s wrong baby?” 

“The song.” I blubber as Bruce sings, “Tell me now baby is he good to you? Can he do to you the things that I do?” producing more waterworks from my tear ducts. It would be an act of betrayal, dancing with her to this song, something my muscles just won’t allow me to do. 

“Could you change the song?” I sniff, wiping at my eyes and feeling the embarrassment creep up into my chest. “I’m sorry, just not this song, it’s too personal for me.” 

But I don’t get much peace even after she moves to change it as more longing thoughts of Sara occupy the space of my brain. I try to apologize more, but it’s useless as I’m now nearly sobbing. This isn’t fair to Lindsey, this isn’t fair to anyone, and I despise the days like this when it all gets to be too hard. 

Like a child with a blankie, I need the comfort of my sister, and I’m eternally grateful that Lindsey doesn’t punish me for my drunken emotional breakdown. She simply nods her head as Cher comes on, running her hands through my curls and kissing my forehead. 

“My dad, it’s our song. I just miss him is all. I haven’t seen him in months.” I lie through my teeth, watching her accept my alcohol-responsible explanation with a thoughtful nod. 

“That’s okay, Tee. I understand.” And I wish that her statement was true, I’d give anything for her to be able to know the torture of the love that I have. For her to know the way that the pull between us nearly breaks my ribcage in two when she’s too far away from me for too long. It’s pathetic, but it’s my reality, and it hasn’t lessened since Sara moved to Montreal. 

“I’m going to step outside and call dad, I think that would help.”

But it’s not my father’s number that I dial once I step out into the cool evening summer air, and my equal answers before the first ring is finished. 

“Tee?” The sweet voice comes through my speaker, calming down the most violent parts of me. 

“Hi.” I mumble, and the tears leak out of my eyes faster at the sound of my counterpart. “Fuck.” I speak, feeling so utterly embarrassed. 

“What’s wrong, Tee? Hold on,” And there’s russling, followed by her telling mum that she’s going to take a walk. After a few seconds and more shuffling, I hear her breathe through the receptor. This is so elementary, yet it’s the most familiar feeling I’ve ever known. Homesickness for a person.

“I feel like I’m at camp. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m so far away from you, I feel like I need you. It’s suffocating.” The anxiety comes off of me in waves as I openly tell her my feelings. It dawns on me that this phone call has been made many times in our lives, but never when she was in a place to respond to me appropriately in the way that I needed her to. 

She sighs, and I get an instinctual fear that she’s going to ridicule me and tell me she’s too busy. A line that I have dealt with many times before. 

But she doesn’t, whispering instead “I know. I’m right there with you.” I feel my heart grow in size, only by a few centimeters but enough to get the tears to reduce. 

“Fuck, Sare. I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like the last three days I haven’t been able to breathe, I… I think it’s because we’re so close to being on vacation and then she wanted me to dance with her and then Springsteen came on-”

“Oh no, I’m On Fire?” She questions, and I can hear the slight smile behind her words. 

“Yes.” My feet kick at a rock along Lindsey’s cobblestone driveway. “I couldn’t keep dancing with her. It felt so fucked up, standing there with her and wishing that it was you. That’s so fucked up.” 

The line goes quiet, and I can almost feel her wincing. “But not like that, I mean… I wish I was dancing with you, and it makes me feel like I’m at camp, it makes me feel like I’m alone in a house for the first time and it’s 2002 again and I just…” My voice trails off, realizing that I’m explaining the pull to the only other person in this world who understands what the pull feels like. She stays quiet for a few more seconds, processing my abrupt call and the word vomit pouring out from my teeth. 

“It’s okay.” She offers. “Do you want to know something, Tegan?” 

“Yes.” I breathe out, mouth pressed so close to the receiver that it indents my cheeks, as if I might could feel her through it. I close my eyes as she clears her throat, sitting down on the cobblestone ledge separating Lindsey’s small front yard from the sidewalk. 

“On this vacation, mum and I have seen some of the most beautiful sights.” Her nervous lisp turns the corner of my mouth up, and I keep my eyes closed to absorb it all.

“I want you to… these past two weeks have further proven to me that, that loving you feels like the ocean and the moon, and the relationship between the waves and the shores, I’ve told you that before.” I laugh gently at the words that make it all worth it, feeling fresh tears fall to the earth beneath my feet. “And being without you feels like getting caught in a cold rain without a raincoat. Do you feel that now? I feel it too. You must know.. You have to remember that every time you feel that, that longing, that need… I might be somewhere across the world, but I’m somewhere across the world and I’m feeling it too.” 

“Sara.” I let the strained sob rip its way through my chest at her words that wreck me, but she interrupts me before I get the chance to speak again. 

“Tegan loving you feels like putting out a fire that demands to not be put out.” 

“I need you.” I weep, “It’s so strong, I need you.” 

“You have me.” It’s so low that I barely catch it, because we aren’t used to speaking like this without being in bed with each other in the solitude between four walls. “Four more days, that’s all. But you don’t have to wait four more days to know that you have me.” 

“I love you.” I whisper into the phone, hoping that she’ll hear me. 

“I love you. Now go back inside, don’t be rude. I’ll see you soon.” And the call is disconnected. 

When I open my eyes, I catch the last little light of the sun as it disappears in a hue of orange. For the first time in nearly twenty-eight years, she’s given me something she’s never given me before- solace, within her. I return to Lindsey’s bedroom, finding her asleep under the covers, looking peaceful and warm. With a few motions I lift up the blankets on my side of the bed after shrugging off my shorts and removing my necklace, scooting up next to her warm body and waking her up in the process. She rolls over into me, pressing a light kiss to the nape of my neck. 

“Did you guys make plans to see each other the next time you’re in Calgary?” 

My heart breaks as I tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear, wishing with everything in me that I wouldn’t have to lie so much. I press my lips to her warm forehead, inhaling the scent of coconut as my eyes close. I make a promise to her and myself as I keep my lips pressed to her hairline, to give every ounce of effort and love that’s left to her after Sara has taken her claim. 

“Yes we did. I feel better now.” 

“Good.” She mumbles, pulling my tired limbs into sleep with her shortly afterwards. 

***

I nervously tap my fingers against the armrest of the seat in the airplane, it’s finally here, and I’m no longer focused on anything but what’s to come. I land at Louis Armstrong Airport in thirty minutes, where I’ll take a cab to the house that my sister is already occupying. She flew in yesterday to get everything ready and get the keys from the owners. 

My happiness grows stronger with every mile I fly closer to her, and by the time the plane lands in a nauseating turbulence, I can’t keep my left leg from bouncing in anticipation. I’m excited for us, I’m excited to spend time relaxing and secluded from anyone else without having to worry about showing the way I truly feel to her. I’m excited to come to a compromise over how we’re going to deal with our relationship in ways that gets us everything we need from our life and each other, despite how difficult I know it might get. I tell the nice man thank you after he helps me get down my luggage from the overhead bin, and as I make my way through the airport to baggage claim- the nerves decrease. 

This should be easy, I’ve spent my entire life loving her, so why am I nervous? It’s no different, just a little more privacy and effort from her. Isn’t this everything I’ve wanted? Am I nervous because I know that it could be our last chance at getting it right? Well. Then again, losing her isn’t an option, so maybe that’s the reason for my clammy palms and heart palpitations. My brain is telling me that this is the final shot, but I know that it could never be, and if it took eighteen tries then eighteen tries is what I’d give her. 

I make myself calm down, knowing that I’ll ruin it if I don’t be realistic. If I don’t remember why I’m here. We’re not here to go on vacation, we’re not here to have sex, we’re not here to pretend like we don’t have very immobilizing issues. We’re here to fix, to mend, to compromise. We’re here to stop fighting, and learn how to respect one another so situations like Glasgow never happen again. We’re here to forgive, most importantly. And if I’m too nervous, I’ll ruin it all, because Sara deserves my patience. 

The cab ride takes me to the outskirts of the opposite end of the city, into a neighborhood much nicer than anything I’ve ever been in. We pass through the streets of the higher class homes, all of them mostly forced into privacy by the tall trees that line the sidewalk. When he pulls into the small driveway, I throw my bag over my shoulders and hand him the money for the fare. I deny his offer to help me with my luggage, choosing instead to load my massive suitcase down with my two duffle bags by throwing the straps over the handle and lugging it up to the gate. By the time I get through the gate and walking up the concrete steps of the front porch, I’m nearly out of breath. As I’m lifting my hand to press the code into the keypad to the front door, it opens, as if she was waiting for me. 

“Let me help you.” She offers, and I have to grit my teeth in silence from the sight of her. With her hair untamed and falling across her forehead and her skin that’s been tanned from a month on the California coast. She’s beautiful, with an oversized light grey button up that’s rolled at the sleeves, the first three buttons undone to expose slight cleavage beneath her simple black bra. Shirt tucked into loose khaki chinos.

“Tegan?” She smiles, white teeth gleaming behind the bottom lip that she bites. I wait for her response, which only silences me more as she says, “My eyes are up here.” 

I stand before her, stunned, as she throws one duffle bag over her shoulder and picks up the other. 

“I, I brought my whole closet.” Stuttering, damn my nerves. 

“I see that.” Laughter fills the air, and we’re moving through the front door as I follow her to the bedroom. 

The first room you see from the foyer is the living room, complete with dark cherry wood floors and beige walls. The old leather sectional couch wraps around the glass center table, a plush white rug beneath them. Above the mantle of the fireplace sits a mounted flat screen, and there’s large french doors giving access to a balcony. 

“How much did we end up renting this place for, again?” I ask in amazement, eyes looking over the furnishings. That couch probably costs more than my entire place combined. 

“It came up to $2,900 a month. They wanted $4,000 but I paid in cash from our joint account so they worked with us a little bit.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Yep, the couch is definitely more expensive than my place. 

“Right? They’re in the process of selling it, too. Asking for a little over two million.” 

“But it’s only a one bedroom?” My eyes are wide, staring at her in shock from the news. “Two million dollars in Vancouver gets you a fucking mansion.” 

“It’s historic, Tee. Every place around here was like that. This is nothing but a renovated old house.” 

We move through the living room, underneath the arched wall and into the kitchen, where I’m once again left with my mouth hanging wide open. The cherry wood extends into the cabinets, built with glass windows to allow the patrons to see the contents inside. The oven and gas stovetop come with a nice stainless steel overhead hood, and the large windows draw massive amounts of natural sunlight into the space. It’s beautiful, and my mind wanders to thoughts of Sara and I, cooking breakfast for each other in the morning sunlight with the windows open. I notice after my daydream that she’s leaned up against the refrigerator, staring at me with a smile on her face. 

“Come on, wait until you see the bedroom.” 

And that’s where I’m nearly put on my ass. The pictures didn’t do it justice. 

The floor to ceiling window isn’t just taking up the space of one wall, but two walls. Overlooking the high trees separating us from our neighbors and reflecting the moving water of the pool below. The king bed rests in the middle, on a massive black panel-platform bed frame. I have to slip my shoes off to match Sara in fear of getting something on the beige carpet, or that expensive fucking circular rug in front of the bed. 

“Are those track lights?” I ask my twin, who’s moved to the walk in closet to my right where she’s unzipped my suitcase and duffle bags to tuck my clothes away. 

“They are, they’re all over the house.” 

“I like it.” I give a smile in her direction, enjoying the way her shirt stretches over sharp shoulder blades. I grab a small remote from the glass bedside table, on what I assume will be my side since Sara’s charger is plugged up to the opposite lamp, pressing random buttons in true Tegan fashion. The oversized black curtains hanging from the sides of the windows begin moving, closing in to meet in the middle and putting Sara and I in near pitch-black. 

“Oh shit, that’s what that does.” I hear her girlish laughter from the closet. “Nice.” She adds, but as I go to open them back up, the smell of her cologne invades my nostrils. 

“Hold on.” She asks, close to me and whispering. “Don’t open them back up yet.” 

“Sara.” I warn, but my body doesn’t show it, unable to give off the correct energy when telling her to she shouldn’t touch me. “Aren’t we supposed to not be doing this?” But it’s not like I actually believe in what I’m saying, so I don’t move to stop her when she steps even closer. Lining our hips up and moving into my proximity with her mouth at my ear. 

“I’ve missed you.” She drops her head, “I’ve missed you so much.” And then without the reins of my control, my finger finds her chin, lifting her mouth to meet mine in only a way that’s excruciating for us both. 

“You’re trembling.” I speak into her open mouth, taking notice of the way she shakes as she cups the space beneath my ears with both hands. No response is given to me other than a kiss to my closed lips, and I don’t need one. I already feel everything that could possibly be said. Regaining control, I tilt her head to the side with the fingers of my right hand wrapped around her chin, just to feel her mouth open against mine. I give her my tongue and she accepts it with gratitude. 

It gets to a point, somewhere between soft cries of breathless agony and my shoulder blades being pushed up against the wall behind me, where I know that if I don’t stop- I may never be able to. And I think Sara realizes it too, because she untangles our lips to press her forehead against my own within the darkness. 

Strained, she speaks. “I’m sorry. I had to. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” I tilt her into another soft kiss. “Don’t ever apologize. You don’t have to have permission.” 

“Don’t tell me that, don’t.” She whispers against my mouth, allowing me to inhale the smell of home before it’s gone again.

“You don’t.” I shake my head, “You don’t have to.” And she’s kissing me again, a poor attempt at satiating something so insatiable within her, within us. Her tongue invades my mouth again, making me gasp, bringing me back to the place where I’m nearly unable to stop before snatching away from me. We stand meer feet apart, and in the darkness I see her shaking hand come up to her mouth as if to remember the way my lips felt. My hands would be doing it too, if they weren’t clenched at my side. 

“Fuck.” I groan at the state of the space between my thighs. 

“I know.” We’re both panting, and I grab at the remote again to open the blackout curtains to hopefully relieve the need to continue. 

“This is going to be difficult.” I mumble, laughing at our lack of breath. In return I receive a small smile and a nod of her head. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be so…” But she doesn’t continue, choosing instead to lower her head from my leaning figure with a look of frustration. “Maybe we shouldn’t waste time pretending like we don’t want each other, I mean… Don’t you think that’s a waste of our time?” 

“I’m just afraid it will get in the way of progress.” 

With a sigh and nod of her head, she seems to understand where I’m coming from as much as I understand where she’s coming from. 

“But that doesn’t mean we have to pretend, no. Let’s just let everything happen naturally. I mean, it’s not like… We’re sleeping in the same bed for fucks sake, you know? It’s not like I actually thought that it wouldn’t happen eventually.” 

“That’s true.” She smiles, “Naturally is good for me.” Her eyes drift through the room with a cross of her arms and a reddened swollen lip between her teeth that is not my own, landing finally on the scenery behind the windows. “So, what do you want to do after we finish unpacking your things?” 

“Hmm. I wouldn’t mind a shower, we can cook dinner and walk around the place. I wouldn’t mind relaxing by the pool while the sun goes down.” 

“Deal.” We smile in unison, moving to unpack the rest of my clothes. 

***

I step out of the massive stone shower and reach for the towel on the rack to my left. Telling myself that I’ll eventually get Sara into the shower with me, even if it has to be dark in here so she doesn’t feel exposed or insecure. The skylight brings the bright sun down onto my skin as I dry away the cold moisture and unzip my toiletry bag to find my brush. After going through the usual routine of moisturizing and moving my unruly hair into a manageable position, I dress myself in comfortable sweatpants and a thin sweater, opting out of socks which I know will probably gross Sara out. 

Oh well. She loves my feet, she just won’t admit it. 

I place the towel back on the rack and exit the bathroom, smiling as the smell of cooking food wafts through the air. 

“You did get groceries. I was worried.” My steps carry me into the kitchen, where she’s turning on the fan of the hood above the stove to suck up the smoke. “What are you making?” 

“Pasta. I don’t cook well, but pasta is easy so I figured…” Her sentence is lost as we both pick up on the song coming through her iHome. Fucking Bruce Springsteen, my song to Sara of course. She smiles and flushes at the loss of her sentence and turns back to the stove to empty the noodles into boiling water. Swaying her hips slightly to his voice. Upon opening the refrigerator door in search of a drink, I find a six pack of my favorite beer. 

“I don’t mind if you have a beer, Tegan. I bought them for you to drink, not stare at.” She tells me, picking up on my apprehensive staring. 

“Okay. Thank you.” So I grab one, searching the drawers for a bottle opener with no luck. In a motion to reach around her, she takes the beer of her hand and flips the cooking utensil over. Using the base of the wooden handle and some hand mechanics that I don’t have the skill for, the lid pops open with ease. Wordlessly, the glass bottle is put back into my grasp, and I have to wipe at the fresh sweat on my forehead with my free hand, feeling thoroughly turned on. 

Our food is plated and carried down a set of floating stairs onto the pool patio, complete with a grill that I’ll have to take advantage of later and a seating area, before you get to the wooden pool chairs. I follow her to the pool chairs, breathing in the warm summer air as I take in our surroundings. It couldn’t be more perfect. It’s private and cozy, lit up well enough to cast warm mood lighting over us. 

“I think I’m finally at a place where I can talk.” She whispers to me from my right side after we’ve eaten, head leaning to the side of the chair that’s twice her size. I stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt the courage she has, afraid that I won’t get to see it again. 

“You are.. Tegan I don’t think that what I feel for you is containable. I don’t necessarily think it ever was.” She pauses to sigh. “Something happened to us, something that gave us this reality, and despite how fucked up and sick or rudimentary I think that may be, I know enough to understand that it isn’t so simple. And so it can’t be dealt with in simple ways.” 

My head nods, communicating my attention without a vocalized interruption. 

“It would be naive, I believe, of both of us, to think that we could ever live happily together.” And my head is shaking in disbelief at the way a conversation so hopeful has turned into hurt, but I’m silenced with her finger that shoots into the air between us.

“But that doesn’t mean that we can’t come to a compromise, so we can satiate that and live happy lives apart. You know this conversation was coming, and you knew it was going to be difficult, but I’m here Tee. And I’m not going anywhere. We might as well get it over with, so don’t get emotional and fussy on me. I’m trying here.” 

“I know you are.” My eyes lock on the sun setting beneath the tall trees, unable to maintain our heavy stare. I reinstate, “I know you are.” 

“When you mentioned this vacation... I thought what a great way to build us stronger as sisters. Thinking that would set a strong foundation, especially knowing that foundation has been rocky for nearly half of our lives. But that was my own naivety, because I know that being your sister does not come without everything else I need from you.” 

“And how do you suppose we fix this all? And how can you be so sure with that course?” I challenge, drawing my eyes back to her. “Where do we even start with all of this?” 

She’s moving into a sitting position on the edge of the chair, elbows to bony knees and diplomatic hands clasped in front of her. 

“I think we need to stop asking why we’re like this. I think we need to stop asking why and start dealing with it instead-”

“Exactly,” I interrupt. “And how do you suggest we do that, Sara? This isn’t exactly something I know how to deal with. When you’re away from me, when you’re with someone else- I feel like I’m missing something.” 

“So miss something, miss me.” Her voice rises, but gently, “And know, like I said on the phone with you a week ago, I’ll be missing you just as much- if not more. I feel that too, okay? I feel it too. Every single day I spend without you. And it hurts, and it never gets easier, and I feel every second of it. But we’re only apart for maybe a hundred days out of the year, we can learn how to manage our time.” 

“Then what are you saying, Sara?” 

“I’m saying that we spend a near two hundred days out of the year touring and promoting, we spend another thirty to sixty working on albums, we don’t have to always miss each other and it doesn’t always have to be so tumultuous if we can just learn how to give that love to the other when we’re in privacy. And I know that I am most at fault for… For that.” The knot in her throat makes itself known as her words break, and I can tell that it’s a different kind of guilt from what she’s used to that overcomes her. 

“When I asked you that night to teach me, I wasn’t meaning something as singular as physicalities. Tegan, I… You’re going to have to teach me how to fight that guilt that..” Our eyes spill over in unison at her words. “I’m not as sure as you are, I… It’s not so easy for me, God…” 

“I love you.” I speak openly, reaching out for her hand as she starts again. 

“I live life loving you, in fear of loving you. And it’s so detrimental when I get awful, and I don’t mean to be awful, I won’t be. I’ll be good, I’ll learn. But you’re going to have to help me with this, I-” 

“I love you.” The words tell her again as I lift her hand up to my lips where I can kiss the skin around her wrist. “I’ll do anything. I’ll get us a separate bus, I’ll move across the world, I’ll do anything. I’ll teach you.” And we’re crying now, feeling something similar to breathing air for the first time in a long time. Feeling like we’re making progress. I mean every word I say. 

“But you have to learn how to be happy when we’re apart. You can’t just, I need you to find happiness in things that aren’t me, I might not always be here-”

“Don’t talk like that.” I blubber, wiping the wetness from my nose and not hearing any talk about death from either of us. A topic that I will forever avoid, a topic that can break me down into a panic attack within seconds. 

“I mean it. We have to have normal lives, we have to have partners that we can love openly without restrictions, you are mine and I am yours. Forever. In a million lifetimes. But we have to find that in other people too. I want you healthy, mentally- as well as myself, and if I’m saying that I’m willing to try to break that habit of running and pushing, you have to try with my needs and wishes as well.” 

But that doesn’t sit well with me, a concept that never has despite how hard I may try for it to. 

“What I feel for you, it… it encompasses any relationship I will ever or could ever have with another living, sentient being. You are mine, all of you, and nothing will ever change that. But you must have love that can be elementary, you must have dates to movie theatres, you must hold someone’s hand in public, you have to give someone the chance at giving you something that in this lifetime I will not be able to.” 

“I love you.” I weep, leaning over with heaving shoulders as I shake the dawning emotions from my core out into our space. “I love you.” A fourth time, feeling a weight settle into my lap and a hand push my hair back. 

“And I love you. Don’t you see that?” She asks of me, thumbs tracing the lines and hills of my lower lip. “Don’t you see that? And that I want for us to learn how to give and take without giving and taking it all? Can’t you agree that it’s solid?” I nod into her proximity, wrapping my arms around thighs that encircle me. 

For now, she’s right. It’s the only option we have. 

“We can spend the rest of our lives giving into one another in privacy, but we can’t ignore the world around us, or the fact that we’re… that we’re...” 

Sisters, she would say, if I’d have given her the chance. 

I don’t. 

Instead I consume her sentence, eating it whole with a mouth so soft against hers that she rocks into me from the shock. And then I’m lifting us, plates and drinks be damned until tomorrow, up the stairs and into the house and through to the room we’ll now share as a unit. A pair. A couple. For the first time since we were children. Satin sheets meet the cotton shirt on her back as my own goes flying behind us, and then skin meets skin as I rip it down the middle. Fuck the rules, fuck not touching her, fuck waiting too. 

In love, I am ripping at cloth to get us the closest we’ll ever be, and I am in love. All encompassing, all consuming, a damned to hell kind of love. So I take her there, in agony I spread her legs apart, in love I push three fingers into her walls as the mouth that tastes like honey falls open to moan. It’s loud, we’re alone and she’s moaning into the open unabashedly so I consume that too. Drowning it out with my own cries as I curl deeply into warmth... as I curl deeply into home, wrapping my left hand around the back of her neck to pull her closer to me. 

“Tell me it’s mine.” I ask of her. Legs shaking as she tells me what I already know. 

“Tell me again.” And she does, again into my ear, again into hot air, again into the sweat stained skin of my neck. 

“Take it.” She tries to scream, falling short above a strained whisper. “Take me. It’s yours… take me.” But I’m already doing that, yet it causes me to move faster. Harder. Faster, again. Until my bicep is numb from the burning and the only sounds left to make are shattered gasps from either of us and the slickness of her pussy, showing greed, pleading in a violent clench around my fingers to stay inside until everything is wet from my waist down onto the soiled sheets beneath us. So I slow it down, settling face between soaked thighs, where I wrap lips around a clit so committed that her thighs quiver on either side of my ears. And it’s unspoken between us by the non stop curling of my sheathed fingers that when she cums again, I’ll drink. 

So I do. Collecting sweet tang around my tongue as fingers nearly rip the hair from the follicles at the top of my head. I thrive at the arch of her back, working her down in a way that leaves us breathless, but not spent enough to stop. Just breathless for a split second until I feel my own waters flood, undoubtedly causing a river running down my thighs. A river that fails to stop as I feel skilled fingers tugging at the waistband of my sweatpants, exciting me in ways that I’ll never be able to experience with another. As if I’d allow that to happen anyways. 

As if it even could happen, anyways. 

*** 

There comes a point within in all that I find it difficult to breathe. I end up beneath her after the sun has finally set, painting pitch black darkness across the expanse of our bodies, and my eyes adjust to it easily. Moments of panic arise in my brain every now and then from the knowledge of the open windows, and I assume that Sara is experiencing it as well. If she does, she doesn’t allude to it, which to me is more telling that my own anxiety. I’m aware that no one can see through the window, so I don’t know why my heart keeps speeding up at the thought of it. The high trees prevent any wandering eyes, but beyond that- the bedroom is a level above the ground. And beyond even that- common sense tells me that a light would have to be on inside of this room before anyone could make out the shapes that move back and forth across the wide expanse of this expensive bed. 

A bed that, to my delight, doesn’t make much of a noise as it’s rocked back and forth from our ministrations. We have found ourselves completely unclothed now, yet from the positioning I’m in, I don’t get to enjoy the sight of pale tattooed skin. Oddly enough, with tightly clenched eyes and a face shoved roughly into a pillow- there’s not much to see at all. 

She’s knelt on two knees behind me, a hand grasped tightly at the skin around my hips as she achingly pushes her way into me for the first time. My hands beat against the bed when she reaches the hilt with a groan. It’s excruciating in a good way, unlike my experience a few months ago. Her fascination with the strap-on does not come as a shock as Sara’s always been more associated with a fluid gender than I was. I revel in it as she pulls out, ears tuning into the sounds that opens me up more. It’s nirvana, the way I clench around her, the way I drop my hips back in search of a friction that’s not so fast. 

“Please.” I beg of her, “Please, faster. Please.” 

But she quiets me, wrapping a thumb into the corner of my mouth and slamming back into me roughly. I don’t bite down on her digit, despite knowing that it would most likely result in the increase of speed that I crave, because secretly I know she’s loving this. The push and pull, the sealant of her desire into my core in only a way that she can deliver, the way she’s watching my pussy cling to the skin toned phallus in protest as she pulls out slowly. I could only imagine the visuals, making a mental note to get her in this position when the time comes for our roles to be reversed, wanting to experience that for myself. Sara has a thing for visuals, being naturally more artistic than me, so I encourage that. Arching my ass a little higher to open myself up more, giving her a better view of what she’s doing, earning my reward in the way her hips twitch as a moan rips beneath her teeth. 

“Fuck.” We groan in unison as my face is pushed harder into the pillow. I’m split in half and gracious as the pace picks up, earning her the Holy sound of our skin meeting and the choppy gasps that flow from my mouth. 

“Do you like that?” She moans, working me so quickly that I’m forced to grasp at the sheets beneath me, a mistake that causes her hand to grab mine and force it around my body to be held against the small of my back, a pinnacle of submission and treatment that I would never allow from anyone else. 

“I think…” I gasp, being cut off when she bottoms out into a spot that nearly pulls forth my orgasm. “I think you can do better.” 

Another mistake. 

My other hand is brought around with force to meet it’s partner, rendering me fully restrained to her will, an action that would piss me off if I knew that it wasn’t meant to give her leverage. This is uncharted territory. As aware as I was to her fascination with attachments, domination was typically my thing, so I make a mental note to one day go searching for her limits of how far she possibly could get me to submit. 

Thoughts are quickly forgotten when I find out just how much leverage she’s taken, rutting into my depths and stretching me out at a speed I can barely keep up with. I can’t think of a goddamn thing, incapable of forming coherent thought being in so much pleasure.

For what feels like hours that I know to be only minutes as she plows through me, I hold myself off from an impending orgasm, being unsure and unwilling for our tryst to end. This pleasure needing to find me for forever, this pleasure tying itself around me as my subconscious begs for it to remain throughout my lifetime. So when I find myself unable to keep my conclusion at bay, I whimper, “Your lap-“ Like an omen, voicing my concern that I meet my demise with her facing me so I can replace the air with her scent, her breath. “I need to be close to you.” A second attempt at slowing her down, one that she picks up on despite being heavily focused on the way her cock is slipping in and out of me and the hard contractions of the muscles in my back. In a tangle of curling limbs and stalling hips, she lets go of my hands so they can ache as they return to the space above me while she pulls out with a sick pop. 

Turning, she bends over and falls onto the space next to me, mouth closed and eyes locked so deeply into my own that it renders the moment more emotional than it was before. Slick wetness from my own sex is what my hand wraps around when I throw a shaking leg over her strained figure, picking up on just how fucking sore I can expect myself to be upon waking tomorrow morning. Her hands reach for my hips in guidance and I settle, lining the well lubricated cock up with my center without letting go of our locked gaze. When I sink, my chin drops through the air with her, who’s undoubtedly feeling a new sort of pressure from my positioning. I sheathe myself, lurching forward from how deep she hits from the change of positioning. It takes a moment for me to find strength, a moment that she notices I’ll need her assistance, sitting up and drawing my legs to wrap around her in the thought that it might provide me relief from the pleasurable burning sensation. It doesn’t, doing the exact opposite actually. Her change of position causing the cock to hit the end of my walls, bottoming out like never before and immobilizing me with a pained scream. 

“Fuck.” She worries, eyes wide and transfixed upon my own as her thumb collects the sweat against my upper lip, left hand reaching behind me against the small of my back to keep me held safely against her. “I’ve got you, Tee. I’ve got you.” 

I cry out, legs shaking against her waist as the pain subsides. I don’t tell her that her ministrations months ago felt worse than this, but I remember it, causing my eyes to well with tears. Pleasure replaces the burning sensation after we sit breathing for a moment, so further encouraged- I lift up slightly, only by a few inches, before sinking back down on the thickness. 

“Oh my god. Fuck. Oh my god.” I cry, pressing her forehead against mine as I lose the war with myself, “Fuck, Sara, fuck.” 

And she nods against me, fingers wrapping around my neck to keep me sealed against her head. My eyes drift from between own, from left to right, searching for strength to move again which I am given as she continues nodding. So I rock back and forth against her, gripping tightly onto her shoulder blades for some sort of leverage against the oncoming emotions and oncoming orgasm. 

We say nothing, not needing to, understanding that the pull is no longer stretched from our heaving chests like the state of my walls, understanding that the pull has tied it’s own knot between us, sealing us as I edge closer to my undoing. I imagine what it would feel like for her to be truly inside of me instead of the silicone, as sick as that might sound, reaching far up into my body and through the rings of my clenching, and the thought of how it would feel for her to come undone inside of me nearly sends me over the edge. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to her, and from the state of her wide eyes and open mouthed confessions, I know that she’s feeling it too. Proving to me that we will always have to do this, we will always have to find ourselves here, because to our souls it’s reminiscent of how they were supposed to be in this life, intertwined and not separate. Tears coat our cheeks as I come undone. And it’s fucking good, so unbelievably good, causing my whole body to contract in shaken movements against the arms that have wrapped around me. My cries are broken, inexplicably, finding that I’m unable to do anything but rock against her through an orgasm that feels like it might never end. I try to lift off of her through my uncontrollable contractions, running away from the sensitivity, but when I do I feel the flood pour out of me, splashing against the base of her muscular stomach with a sound that brings me back down onto the phallus, torturously continuing my orgasm and beginning her own. 

“Tegan!” She lurches forward as a mutual orgasm rips through us, pressing deeper into my quivering walls with latching fingernails around the skin of my back. I flood around her again, crying out into the sweaty wet hair against my lips, in pure agony at the way she pumps into me with reckless abandon in her mirrored demise. She screams, guttural, before biting down on the skin of my neck to harshly silence her lungs in a way that sees my blood rush to the surface of every inch of my salty skin. 

“I love you.” I breathe shakily into her hair once we calm, hands pushing back the wringing wet fringe from her face. 

“I love you so much.” It’s reinstated, the only thing my soul could speak into the open with the way my brain has been turned off in the height of our actions. A whimper is given to me in response, so I lay her down, closing my eyes against the skin above her breasts without pulling her out of my core.


	7. Seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jump! We're gonna stay here for a while, circa March-ish 2011. 
> 
> Love you guys.

The walk into the therapists office is the same as it is every Tuesday, and true to the New York spring, cold as hell. I cross over the street when the sign tells me to go, watching the heat of my breath in the air below me. It doesn’t feel like a new year, I’ve been saying that for months to everyone I know. The weight won’t come back onto my body and it’s showing.

  
Today, Emy is joining me. Not for any particular reason, but because my therapist is interested in seeing how much I can open up with someone next to me, someone that I trust. I figured, Emy was the best option seeing as though she was already in the city and Tegan’s supposedly on holiday in Hawaii. She’d thought that forcing me to paint my the walls of my apartment would liven the mood. Typical of her. So, we spent most of yesterday doing just that.

  
It’s not that I’m depressed, I don’t think so. I was depressed. Now, I’m just indifferent. My body feels weird, and I can’t concentrate on a damn thing placed in front of me. The days move by too quickly and the world plays out in front of me. I’m getting so lonely that it’s numbing.

  
“You cut your hair!” Emy’s smile is bright, standing on the sidewalk next to the office where we’ll spend our next two hours.

  
_Move in with me again, I need you._

  
I want to tell it to her, but the selfishness of that debilitates me. She’s happy now, you know? Her partner is good for her where I was not. She doesn’t hide away, she doesn’t shy from the pressure. She’s happy now.

  
She’s happy now.

  
Everyone is all so fucking happy now.

  
“I did. I couldn’t take the bangs anymore.” But did my brain really want me to say that? I did cut my hair last night, yes, but is that really what I feel like talking about? If I asked her to spend the night with me instead of going back to her hotel, would she?

  
“It suits you. I mean, so did the last cut, but I like this one. It brings out your features.”

  
I roll my eyes. “You mean my bones? It’s just like the same haircut I’ve had before, Emy.” And it bites, I can tell, though her smile barely falters.

  
We move in through the glass doors and up the large set of stairs where Dr. Elison’s office is. The building houses multiple therapists, all researched heavily by me, but this is the first one I’ve actually enjoyed. She doesn’t pry, she doesn’t look bored either. It’s a good balance.

  
Emy’s left hand wraps around my shoulder blade when she goes to open the office door for me. I could cry at the contact. It’s been months since I’ve had any. Once we get signed in at the waiting room, after a small wait, we’re directed to the far-too-comfortable room where Dr. Elison sits on her usual couch. Her grey hair is in a bun today, her socked feet folded underneath her. The large windows ease me down, and this only grows when she stands to shake hands with my best friend.

  
“Jessica Elison.” She speaks, it’s a little loud and hard to ignore. I love that, and I can tell Emy does too.

  
“Emy Storey. I’m Sara’s best friend.”

  
I roll my eyes again, feeling like a child and secretly adoring it.

  
“So I’ve heard! All nice things, don’t worry. You guys go ahead and grab a seat on the couch- Sara, I’ve got our coffee brewing. It should be done so I’ll go grab it before we start. Emy would you like some?”

  
The look on Emy’s face is a amusing as she declines, sitting next to me on the leather sofa that I wish I owned in my apartment. As I study, I notice that the office hasn’t changed a bit since last Tuesday, and remains clean in an untidy way. Part of me wishes I could stay here for a while longer than I will be.

  
“You’ve got her fixing coffee for you too?”

  
I scoff. “Fuck you.” But it comes out so fast that my friend’s face is painted in laughter. “She had some on my first visit so it’s became our routine, I guess. You know I can’t resist.”

  
Her head shakes through the giggles. “Got everyone whipped, don’t ya Sara?”

  
But she’s wrong, because clearly not everyone. Not the one’s that I need most. Emy can tell that my brain is turning by the distance in my eyes, as if I’m seeing right through the carpet covering the floor. Dr. Elison’s footsteps interrupt my thoughts, as she walks to our side of the room to hand me my Styrofoam cup, a white glass mug in her hand. I wonder, like every time, when she’s going to get me my own mug. God only knows I’ll be here forever.

  
“So just to get it out of the way,” She begins. “Let’s start today with what’s been going on lately since your last visit. Any new fun things? Any vacations? Unexplained sadness? Happiness?”

  
I wrack my brain, recalling the last time I’d felt any of those things.

  
“No. No happiness or sadness, necessarily. Just the same old things every day. I wake up, get ready, read, try to record and end up with nothing. Go drink in the park until I’m too drunk to be there or too bored to stay sitting.” In the corner of my eye, I see Emy look at me. It makes me nervous.

  
“So you haven’t had any progress with recording? Does Tegan know that you’re going through a rough patch with that?”

  
I think of my sister, and the radio silence I’ve had from her lately. The radio silence sounds like sirens to me.

  
“No. She doesn’t.”

  
“I didn’t either,” Emy interrupts, “You didn’t tell me that wasn’t going well.”

  
“I guess it never came up in conversation. I just haven’t felt anything that makes me want to write lately.”

  
They both nod, and it unnerves me further. Bringing Emy here possibly wasn’t a good idea. The look on Jessica’s face makes me wonder which topic she’ll bring up next, whether that be my poor eating habits or the distraction of my sister.

  
“And what about Tegan, Sara? Is she still in Los Angeles?”

  
“No, she and her girlfriend are in Hawaii together right now.”

  
“Are you still feeling the jealousy.. about that?”

  
Emy turns sharply to me, eyelids squinting in shocked confusion. “Jealousy? What?”

  
“Oh.” Oh yeah, I forgot to tell her about that. “Jessica knows.”

  
“Knows _what_ , Sara?” If she hadn’t been red in the face from the cold, the blush would be visible from miles away. My eyes catch on to the details of her hands clenching tightly in her lap. My therapist looks amused.

  
“Well, pretty much everything.” Which only shocks her more. I turn back to the doctor. “And like I said before, it’s not necessarily jealousy that I’m feeling. I love Lindsey, I think she’s wonderful. I just miss Tegan.. and, and sometimes I think that I’m playing tag with her and her girlfriend. Who can tag Tegan the most, I…”

  
“And you feel like you’re loosing that game of tag?” She asks me, the look on her face is almost full of pity, something that I’ve found she does quite often. I’m never sure if that’s just a ‘therapist’ thing or what. Emy sits frozen in stature to my left.

  
“Well.” I gesture around me. “She’s not here, so.”

  
“So, the last time we talked you said that this has been happening between you two, the game of ‘tag’ so to speak, since the recording process of the last album. In New Orleans?”

  
“Yep. When we found out that Lindsey.. knew.. knew, about.. Yes, since then.”

  
Emy’s head leans into her left hand, face as red as a firetruck. “Jesus,” she whispers, being the one now that’s looking through the carpet.

  
“So why don’t you speak to her about that? I believe that you miss her, Sara, and it might be what’s causing all of these off-putting feelings here. I think you need to sit her down and talk to her about all of this.”

  
I scoff. “No offense, but I would love to. I haven’t seen her in months.”  
“Do you feel like that’s on purpose?”

  
“Tegan wouldn’t do that to Sara on purpose.” My best friend interrupts what I was about to say, stealing the words right out of my mouth, defending my lover. I smile.

  
“No. Emy’s right. She wouldn’t. I don’t know.. She’s just been distant lately. It’s like as soon as I get an idea that would bring Tegan to New York, I get a text from my sister saying that she and LB are going off to do something somewhere. It’s like fucking weird how that works. Every single time.” My face heats up with my anger, voice rising slightly to get my point across.

  
“The last time, I was honestly in the middle of texting her to see if she wanted to come up and I don’t know, stay a fucking week with me or anything, I get a text from her saying that they were going to Hawaii for a small trip so Lindsey could take some pictures for a project.”

  
The tears well up before I can stop them, and the act of God can’t keep them from falling down my sharp cheekbones. I feel Emy’s hand rest on my thigh, rubbing gently. Despite my hands trying to wipe the moisture from the dark circles beneath my eyes, the tears persist. I’m so lonely here, I feel like screaming. The therapist is studying my face silently, expression a mixture of pity and determination. I turn to my best friend as the therapist gives a small cough, bringing a closed fist to her mouth to cover it.

  
“Sara, I might be a little blunt with this, but.. Maybe it’s not you that’s feeling jealous?”

  
Emy’s eyes stop moving from where they’re locked onto my thigh. I imagine she’s waiting for what the woman is about to say. Another cough is given before she finishes her sentence, yet I already know the words that are about to come out of her mouth.

  
“Maybe Lindsey is the one who’s experiencing that jealousy.”

 

 

  
Emy and I leave the therapists office slower than we came in, wordlessly, too. She clutches her bag against her oversized coat, keeping her gaze to the concrete as we push through the heavy doors and once more into the cold air. It’s cloudy now, and the prospect of rain excites me, knowing that I might be able to get some writing done. Whatever is bothering Emy, she doesn’t speak about it, so I decide not to prod until she’s ready. The last hour of the session went better than the first half, with mostly the three of us finding different ways to get me into food again so I won’t drop below 95 pounds and create serious damage. I assumed it would have helped to have Emy there, given that she’s the exact opposite, eating her feelings, when her head isn’t working correctly or when she’s depressed. She understands, despite coming from a different perspective, the problems I’m currently having.

  
Jessica recommended that I try to make myself cook more, or have people cook for me, prompting Emy to get the idea of my mother coming to visit for a while and bringing her cooking skills with her. I declined, not feeling in the mood to listen to my mother berate me over things I can’t control. I’m thirty one, I can cook for myself. The problem isn’t the energy of cooking, the problem is that I’m not hungry.

  
“Do you want to get food?” I offer, trying to pull her out of whatever mental distraction that’s going on right now in that head of hers. She checks her watch for the fourth time since we left the office, and politely shakes her head.

  
“I’m gonna cook for you at home.” Which surprises me, because we’ve been getting take out for three days now.

  
After a few minutes of walking in silence in the direction of my apartment building, she speaks up again.

  
“I didn’t know you were going through all of this, Sara. I mean, I knew that you were.. sad.. but I wasn’t aware that it was that bad.”

  
My jaw clenches. _You haven’t asked, too distracted with your girlfriend like Tegan._

  
“It didn’t come up in conversation. And it’s not “that bad,” my fingers quote the air, “I just miss Tegan. I’m lonely. Tour ended, we barely spent Christmas or New Year’s together, and I’ve just been alone here since January.”

  
Pushing in the code to my building, I huff the last breath of cold from my lungs and lead Emy into the lobby, where the elevators will take me to comfort.

  
“Maybe you should, I don’t know. Grab a change of pace?” Here we go, more recommendations. “I’m just saying, Sara.” She rolls her eyes in response to my hard headedness as we reach my floor, “Why don’t you take a class again or something? Or go travelling? That seems to be working well with Tegan.”

  
Emy reaches my door before I do, and to my surprise- pulls out a key to unlock my door. Am I going crazy? Where did she get a key to my apartment?

  
“Where did you get that? Did I give that to you?” I ask, brain being completely unable to recall that moment of the past.

  
Her laughter echoes through the hallways, hallways that smell like fresh beige-coloured paint. “No, Tegan made me a copy while we were on tour, incase I ever needed to get something for you or if there was an emergency.”

  
Oh.

  
_“Tegan did what now?”_

  
The voice comes from behind me, laughing, causing me to sharply turn my face in the direction I heard it- heard her. My counterpart sits on my grey couch, shoes off and discarded probably messily somewhere on my floors. I couldn’t give a shit less, however. Emy rushes to her side for a hug as she stands, beautiful in a dark sweater and blue jeans, tanned from the West Coast. But suddenly I feel like crying, and I want Emy to leave.

  
After their short reuniting, Tegan moves around my glass coffee table. I smell her before I feel her, and then I’m feeling her and her arms are pushing through my jacket and, unnoticeably to Emy, lifting up my shirt to press her hands against my lower back. My eyes flick to Emy, trying to gauge her reaction to our physical contact like I do every time, and like every time, she finds something else in the room to stare at. It bothers me; I don’t know why, but I can’t let go of my sister because my eyes are watering.

  
“Hey, Sare.” She coos into my ear, hands still rubbing softly. She smells like new cologne that’s much too loud for me.

  
How am I feeling right now? Am I happy? Am I sad?

  
I’m still indifferent, and that doesn’t sit well with me. It was supposed to be her, doing the rescuing, like always. Yet this time I don’t feel all that rescued. Obviously, I’m beyond myself with excitement that she’s here, but I don’t know where to place that excitement. I don’t know where to put it, where it’s supposed to go.

  
“Tegan! I’m happy you made it on time, I was worried that I was dragging Sara here for nothing. I’m sure Sara is happy too, we were literally just talking-

  
I pull back from Tegan’s grasp quickly. “Hey, Em. Would you mind running down the street to grab some groceries for tonight? I haven’t been grocery shopping in weeks.”

  
“Yeah, _all that eating_ you’ve been doing lately Sara.” She jokes at me.

  
My sister looks concerned, “You’re not eating? Sara.”

  
“Emy?” I reiterate, pleading with her, not wanting her to hear the conversation that she’s caused. Once she realizes what she’s done, she nods and moves to pick up her bag again, leaving us alone and not even a foot from each other.

  
Tegan stares at me softly. Softer, and softest. I study the tanned skin, and the dark hair that’s grown longer even. And to her lips, where I want to kiss but can’t. We both wait for the door to shut, Tegan’s head is turned to watch Emy leave, and she’s back onto me once it shuts behind our friend.

  
“Why haven’t you been eating? You look smaller.”

  
Here we go.

  
The cologne is too strong in this proximity anyways, so I back myself up and find her shoes on the floor to place on the shoe mat.

  
“Sara, I’m serious. Why haven’t you been eating?”

  
My patience breaks, causing the floodgates to open and my anger to rise. I haven’t seen her in months, I haven’t felt close to her in months, and this is how I’m welcomed? I ignore her still, moving into my small kitchen to fetch a glass and bottle of brandy.

 

“Don’t ignore me, I’m serious. I’m not watching you go through this again.” Her footsteps trail behind me. I wonder if she can see the tears trailing down my face, dropping off of my chin and onto my shirt. She hasn’t even mentioned my hair. Why hasn’t she mentioned my hair?

  
“Just tell me what’s going on and I’ll fix it. Just tell me.” Typical Tegan. Mouth running a million miles an hour, I can’t even process my thoughts. I turn into her chest, as she’s nearly backed me into the corner of my counter tops, shoving a finger into her breast bone. The scene feels to familiar, and her cologne is once again invading my nostrils. Underneath the strong smell, I catch a whiff of her skin- the shampoo and body wash, the pheromones. It makes me wet, and weaker even.

  
“You. That’s what’s wrong. I haven’t seen you in months. I have barely heard from you. I was barely able to get close to you on tour, or after that. I can’t even feel you enough to know if you feel the same.”

  
And I can tell that it takes her by shock, probably not being anything close to what she was expecting to be wrong with me. She regards me with hesitance, still not noticing my fucking haircut.

  
“Are you jealous?” She speaks, not accusingly, and not a whisper like I’d wanted her to.

  
“No I’m not fucking jealous.”

  
“Then what is it?”

  
“I don’t feel like you’re mine!” I scream, crying now. “I don’t feel close to you. I’m not jealous, I’m not. But I feel like New York is just a chore for you, that you don’t care about seeing me. You’ve been distant.”

  
My sister stands frozen an inch or two above me. The admission makes me nauseous. Maybe I do need to eat something instead of drinking alcohol.

  
“That’s why I’m here.” She whispers, to my relief in multiple ways. “I felt the same way.”

  
Jesus.

  
I watch as she steps even closer to me, wrapping an arm back around my waist so she can hold onto the granite. It’s too hot for this fucking coat. “Kiss me.” Muttered into the space between our faces. I’m still crying, wanting to crawl inside of her body and live there. But I guess it was more of an announcement of what she was about to do, instead of a question, because those lips meet mine in the dead silence of my apartment. I can hear the breath I release more than I can feel it when it happens. After the softness, comes the roughness, causing my lungs to move into overdrive and my brain to switch into auto-pilot.

  
_Jesus_.

  
But it still doesn’t satiate me, because how long is she staying? How long before Emy returns with groceries? When will she notice my haircut?

  
Tegan’s hands pull roughly at my coat, pulling it down and off of my shoulders before throwing it on the floor. I make the decision to ask her questions through our touching that will calm the anxiety.

  
“How long are you staying?” Groaned into her mouth. I’ve got both hands in a vice grip on the collar of her sweater, wetter than I was before, wishing that Emy would drop the groceries off by the front door.

  
“As long as you want me to.” _Lie_. Until Lindsey beckons you back.  
Teeth bite at my bottom lip as warm hands find their way beneath my shirt, making me shiver and sweat.

  
“Have you really felt that way?”

  
The prodding causes her to snicker, so sexy, before nodding into the kiss.

  
“I’m just now whole.”

  
I moan, noticing the change of dynamic in our relationship since tour ended, the way I need her to take and keep the control. Tegan’s hands both meet at my belt buckle, working her fingers through the straps hesitantly incase I tell her to stop. Not even home for thirty minutes and we’re here, how pathetic. Emy can’t walk into this, and I can’t orgasm standing up, so I try to pry myself away.

  
“Shhh,” She coos, “We have time. Just let me-“ Her fingers slide into my underwear. It’s moving too quickly for me. I want to have her in the bed, with time on my side, with her body up above mine and not simply leaning into me.

  
“Wait. I don’t want to.”

  
_Did she only come here to have sex with me?_

  
“You don’t want to?” She pulls backwards, hand slinking out of my open jeans.

  
“Not like that,” I stutter, still feeling the aftershocks of how sudden everything was. “Just wait. We have time-

  
“Okay,” Lips kiss mine again, tender, what I need the most. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  
We both hear the door open at the same time, turning to face Emy who stands at the door, looking at us. Tegan’s turned enough to allow Emy the visual of my belt and pants being fully undone enough to display my underwear. My jacket is on the floor, my hair is all over the place.

  
I turn quickly towards the counter and button my jeans, pulling the belt through it’s buckle and straightening my hair while I hear my sister mutter _Fuck_ and _I’m so sorry, Emy_ to the woman that’s still standing at the door.

 

“It’s okay.” She smiles hesitantly, it doesn’t make either of us feel any better. Especially given that the last and only time this has happened was that God awful night in New Orleans.

  
I stay quiet, moving around Tegan’s body at the sink where she’s washing her hands, to pick up my jacket off of the floor. Emy meets my eyes for a split second but I’m too spaced out with embarrassment to maintain eye contact.

  
Tegan joins me in the living room, a hand continuously rubbing up and down my back, as we hear the food being put up in the kitchen.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she’d be back that soon.” She whispers, trying to rub the sensory overload from my body.

  
“We have to be more careful.” She winces at that, understandably, but knowing that I’m right.

  
Emy cooks dinner for us while we sit on the couch and catch up from the months of separation. It’s not until dinner is finished and a too quiet Emy has left that I find the opportunity to breathe properly. After we clean up and get Tegan unpacked, we change into comfortable clothes and retire to the couch. I pull the loose-thread blanket from the back of the sofa, nervously watching my twin to see where she wants me after she turns on the television. In grey sweatpants and white hoodie, I find her more attractive than in a normal outfit, especially given that the shirt with the awful cologne is gone. Mouthwatering. I feel like a school girl. A child.

  
She leans back onto the pillow, legs angled and feet without socks, and pats the space on her chest.

  
I feel like crying.

  
“Come here.” She orders. So I do. Climbing in between her legs to rest my head in the crook of her neck. Before I settle, still leaning above her, my eyes find the doorknob to check the lock and make sure we’re safe, a habit I’ll never break. The television is on mute, allowing us to hear the city that shines in through my large windows.

  
When my lower half connects with hers, I feel a sudden sensation of something having been taken away from me, and get the disturbing thought of the building crashing down- so that she couldn’t leave this world with none other but the one she was brought into it with. None other but me.

  
After a minute of watching the silent television, she notices the wetness that’s seeping onto her hoodie from my eyelids, causing her to tilt my chin up with her fingers. The sudden realization that she can see my teary eyes brings me out of her grasp. I sit up, wiping my eyes and then wiping the moisture on my pajama bottoms.

  
“Sara?-

  
“Did you only come here to have sex with me?” The question is ordered, shot and fired at her. A look of irritation passes her face at my mood swing.

  
“What?” Her voice rises, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  
We share a look, seeing just how drastically different our moods are, but I refuse to speak or be spoken to like that. It was only a question.  
“Did you only come here to have sex with me?” It’s repeated to her in the same tone she used with me. “You were barely five minutes into my house, seeing how upset I was, before you-

  
I grow more anxious as my twin rolls her eyes, and then laughs.

  
“You honestly think that I’d fly across the country just to have sex with you, when my girlfriend is right there?”

  
Three seconds pass in silence with me looking unemotional at the floor. She fucked up. She knows it. I stand, pushing every single one of my emotions for her to the deepest trench of my mind, and turning to stone like I was before I entered my apartment.

  
“Wait, Sara that wasn’t what I-

  
“Goodnight, Tegan.”

  
My bedroom door is pushed open and quietly shut behind me as I hear her mutter fuck followed by approaching footsteps. I contemplate locking it, however I am not so cruel, and besides, she’s already opened the door and snatching my retreating figure back into her body.

  
“I didn’t mean it like that. What’s all of this about? Even if I was here to see you and maybe have sex with you, it’s because I’ve missed you. You said that you wanted to feel close to me, that’s how I feel about you too. It doesn’t matter to me if we’re cuddling or doing that, and I don’t understand why it would matter to you either.”

  
_Open up your chest_. I want to scream. _Open it, put me inside, lock me in there._

  
I can’t respond to her in that way. Tegan’s never understood me like this, she’s there for me, but she doesn’t understand because she doesn’t work that way. She can’t understand that everything feels wrong for no reason sometimes.

  
“What do you want me to do?” She pleads. “Tell me what you want me to do, where you want me to lie. If you want me to hold you, or touch you, or just sit next to you. I can’t read you like this.”

  
The look of panic that she gets, that’s been on her face since the last half of our European tour when my depression set in, makes me feel sick to my stomach. My eyes observe her body. The slight muscle gain in her thighs and shoulders from God knows what, the rolled up sleeves, the new tattoo?

  
My brain stops turning.

  
“You and me.” I state, looking at the recently done work. It takes her a minute of pure confusion across her face before it clicks as to what I’m talking about. She immediately pulls her sleeve down, rubbing at the space where the tattoo lies. That can’t have anything to do with me, I wasn’t told about it.

  
“It- It’s.. Lindsey and I got matching tattoos.”

  
I nod my head, eyes locked onto where the exposed skin once was.

The unusual feelings of rage and.. jealousy, washes over me. Why am I responding like this? Why am I jealous? She’s barely called in months, my brain speaks for me. I nod again, more tears seeping out of my eyes without my control. Tegan’s body is tensed, waiting on my reaction, yet I can’t seem to give her one. As I watch her, awkward and quietly, I realize that I want to be nowhere near her again.

Suddenly I wish she was miles away, with her girlfriend of three years, a woman I’m sure is adorning a me and you tattoo somewhere on her body, plotting ways to bring Tegan out of New York.

  
“Sleep on the couch.” I tell her, “I want to be alone.”

  
Tegan freaks, eyebrows lifting high on her forehead. “No.”

  
“Sleep on the couch, Tegan.”

  
“No, I’m not going to.”

  
“Fine. Then sleep on the floor, I want to be alone.”

  
“No.” Again. I watch as those eyes get darker. “You’re sleeping next to me, in this god damn bed. You’re not doing this to me, that’s not fair.”

Her voice cracks, bringing me out of my self-imposed solitude. “You promised you weren’t going to do this. You made that promise to me, you did, Sara. You said this wouldn’t happen.”

  
Jesus. I follow her as she sits on the bed, panicked tears rushing out of her eyes as her face drops into her hands.

  
“Please don’t do this.. You promised, Sara. I don’t want to do this with you. I just want us to be happy.”

  
Suddenly her words ring in my ears, because she’s right, yet it still doesn’t lessen the anxiety. Watching her cry draws out the apology.

  
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m losing you to her.”

  
Tegan looks at me, her eyes bloodshot with her nose like they always are when we cry, and I feel my heart break. In disbelief with myself for the words that I’ve said, when I should have bottled them up.

  
“I should have called you more often. I’m sorry. I thought that you were anxious on tour because you were sick of me, and needed space. I thought that giving you space was going to fix it.”

  
Silly woman. My head shakes at her, my throat closes in on itself.

  
“Lindsey was on tour with us for all of Europe, and for Christmas. I didn’t have anyone. I’m not used to watching you be with her for so long. Then I was here, you weren’t.. you weren’t calling or texting me.”

  
The bed calls my name, so I claim a spot sitting next to my twin.

“Then my therapist said that maybe it’s Lindsey who’s jealous, so..”

  
“I don’t think she’s jealous. She knows that wouldn’t go over well with me. I think we’ve just been busy.”

  
_Your tattoo didn’t go over well with me._ It doesn’t come out of my mouth, however. We stare at each other for a second, before Tegan leans in to kiss me, pressing soft lips against my chapped ones. My tongue dips out to wet my lips, which she takes as approval for her to trace mine with her own.

  
“Please don’t ever again think that that’s the only reason I would come spend time with you.” Tegan whispers into my mouth, then, “I’ve told you a million times before, despite how much I enjoy and crave making love to you, if I never got to do it again, yet knowing that you still love and want me, it would be enough.”

 

 

Tegan

  
When I wake up, it’s to the bright morning sunlight streaming in through Sara’s blind-less windows. My arms are wrapped around her covered waist, she seemed distressed even in sleep. I make a note in my head that Sara’s bed is more comfortable than my own, and Lindsey’s too. I never get the kind of sleep back home like I do here. It makes me sad for us both.

  
Being a good lover, I kiss the skin above her exposed shoulder blade and gently pull myself from beneath the warm sheets so not to wake her up, padding quietly out of her room and into the hallway bathroom with my duffle bag in tow, in order to shower and dress myself for the day. I have plans, ones that I don’t want her knowing about until later, so I’m sure to be quiet in everything that I do. Once I’m fully dressed and ready for the day I leave her a note explaining that I’ll probably be gone for most of the morning and that there’s hot coffee in her coffee pot, and I make sure to turn that on, too.

  
Six hours later, I’m sitting at a backside table in Greenwich Village, waiting for Emy to arrive and have lunch with me. The neighborhood is nice, the type of environment I would expect Emy to recommend, and this shows on her face as she walks through the restaurant with a wave in my direction. No one has yet to recognize me and I beg for it to stay that way, feeling like New York is the place to be for a musician that doesn’t want to be recognized.

  
“Hey, Tee. Good morning. How are you?” I’m wrapped in an Emy hug, my favorite kind aside from Sara’s.

  
“Good, good. It’s 1pm, Em. But I’m assuming you just woke up, yeah?”

  
She laughs, deep and throaty. Of course she just woke up. I let my mind wonder where Sara’s at right now, if she chose to stay in today or if she went somewhere. If she enjoyed my coffee this morning. If she’s upset at having to wake up alone. It’ll pay off though, I’d never choose to wake up without her unless there was a point to it.

  
Emy and I order food after she takes what feels like hours to look at the menu, and there’s a certain awkwardness between us that I have to get rid of before we can continue on with our conversations.

  
“Um, Emy, can I just say that I’m really sorry for last night? That was all of my fault, I didn’t even think about what I was doing.”

  
The nervous laughter I’m given is not reassuring, and she realizes it.  
“No, no, no- It’s totally okay. I was just very surprised to walk into that, especially with how upset Sara has been since I flew up.”

  
I cough, “About that..”

  
“Oh yeah, what happened? Did she open up to you? I was hoping that would help get her out of this.”

  
I guiltily think of the tattoo on my arm, and of the numerous unread messages on my phone right now- constantly asking me when I’m flying back home and how long I’m going to be here.

  
“Actually, I was hoping to ask you about that. Sara and I got into it, not badly, just an argument. She’s like..” My fingers rub at my temples. “Seriously jealous of Lindsey. It’s came out of no where.”  
Emy’s face falls.

  
Is she irritated?

  
“You’ve been gone, barely texting or calling her, for nearly four months, and you’re wondering why she’s jealous or insecure?” The taller woman bites at me, though it is not as harsh sounding as it could have been, I can’t help but let the guilt rise.

  
“It’s a misunderstanding. I thought that Sara was wanting space from me, because of how she acted on the Europe tour… which I mean, come to find out, it actually was because of Lindsey being there.. But I didn’t see it, as I never do.” Emy listens to me, almost bored in her expression, and I’m assuming she’s waiting for me to make up an excuse as to why I’m so oblivious. The collar of my shirt feels tight.

  
“Anyways, my fault, I understand. Well, when LB and I were in Hawaii, we got matching tattoos.”

  
“Oh God.” I watch as my closest friend’s head falls into her hands, already knowing where this is going.

  
“Which I mean, she’s my girlfriend, has been and will be for what I’m assuming a very long time- so I won’t apologize for that, and Sara would never make me. But,”

  
The look on my face is a dead give away to the woman I’ve known 11 years, judging by the widening of her eyes and the pursing of her lips.

  
“What did you do Tegan?”

  
“Before you tell me it was a stupid decision, remember who you’re talking to, the one who makes rash decisions. I had to make up for it, Emy... She was so upset about that tattoo, and I’d already been thinking of this in my head for a while now..” My hands pull at the zipper of my hoodie, shrugging it off of my shoulders in order for her to see the slightly bloody cellophane cling wrap taped to my upper left arm, the same arm that houses the same tattoo that got me into this mess. Emy gasps loudly, causing me to wince and look around, making sure that no attention is drawn to me incase someone recognizes me.

  
“Jesus fucking Christ.” She mumbles. Staring at the fresh ink. “That’s fucking big Tegan. That’s fucking big.”

  
As soon as she reads the script, allowing it to click in her head, next to the combination of images, her eyes narrow in anger, causing her to lean across the table and angry whisper, “ _That’s fucking obvious,_ Tegan _._ ”

  
My hands fly up. “I know! I know. I don’t know how this is going to turn out.”

  
Emy’s head shakes in disbelief, a smile on the edge of her lips. “Dude, Sara’s going to kick your ass for this. You guys are _famous_ ,” She whispers, “You do know that, yes? What the fuck are you going to do about this?”

  
“Look. It wasn’t supposed to be this big. I told the girl what I wanted, she said it would look wonderful this size, to really frame out my arm, and then I saw it stenciled on me and it was just fucking breath-taking and now I can’t take it back..”

  
In my defense, that really was the case with this one. It was beautiful. I just couldn’t tell her to size it down.

  
“It is beautiful…” Emy admits, as our waiter gently sets our food down in front of us. “Dude, you’re in the Lower East Side. How much did that cost you?”

  
I close my eyes, purse my lips, and shake my head. “You don’t want to know.”

  
Like a girl on mean girls, about to hear gossip, Emy squeals.

  
“You can’t tell Sara.” I warn. She shakes her head like a puppy. “I won’t.”

  
I sigh, still feeling the drop in weight from my bank account. “It was $1100. Nearly $300 per hour. Sara’s going to kill me. I tipped $200 on top of that.”

  
Emy gets quiet, eyes focused intently on the tiger clawing it’s way out of the cage that’s trapping my most favorite picture of Sara and me.

The symbolism is quite obvious, I realize this now, and I have no clue what kind of story Sara’s going to have to create in her head for me to tell people when they ask. I glance once more at my friend, still nearly motionless and stuck in her seat, nodding her head back and forth.

  
“Sara’s going to fucking kill you, Tegan.”

 

  
I remove the cellophane in the restaurant restroom and wipe the blood off with a damp paper towel, knowing that the sting I feel from cleaning it will pale in comparison to what I’ll have to deal with tonight when I show my lover. Was it the smartest decision on my behalf? No. But I don’t give a damn. I love this tattoo with all of my heart and Sara will learn to love it too. We can’t all be as vague about tattoo meanings as she is.

  
An idea pops into my head. It’s the perfect way to warm Sara up before revealing it to her. If she asks what I’ve done today, I’ll tell her I went shopping and out to lunch with Emy, which isn’t a complete lie, and I’ll interrupt her train of by making her go out to see a show with Emy tonight while I set her apartment up for a date night. After the date night, which I’m still very unsure of how that’s going to play out, I’ll reveal the tattoo to her. But, only after she’s been buttered up with dessert and wine.

  
Perfect, and in true Tegan fashion.

 

 

 

Sara

  
Tegan and Emy arrive home not long after I showered and dressed, I figured I should make myself presentable at the least after laying in bed all day and reading. It was alarming to not wake up next to my twin, but I assumed she was out doing something with our best friend that she hasn’t seen in months. Upon finding the sweet note on my kitchen counter top and a coffee pot full of cold coffee, I found that to be true.

  
“What have you done all day, Sare?” Emy asks from the doorway as Tegan bends down to kiss my temple, ignoring the way I reflexively still tense up.

  
“I sat in bed reading for a long time, you guys came in maybe thirty minutes after I showered. What have you guys done today?”

  
Tegan laughs and throws herself onto the couch next to me, “We went shopping and out to eat, the usual.”

  
I look around the room in search of her bags, spotting Emy with a few that she places on the ground by the kitchen.

  
“Oh, did you get me anything?” I poke at her side, loving the way she runs her eyes across my favorite striped shirt in appreciation, in only a way that I would recognize her doing it and nobody else. When she sees that she’s been caught, she winks, shaking up the cage of butterflies in my tummy and causing me to smile like a school girl.

There’s also something about shoulder-length hair on Tegan that reminds me of her femininity, and her strength, from the way it brings out the strongest of her features.

  
“Actually, yes but it’s a surprise. Oh hey,” She gets my attention again, turning herself around into an upright position, “Would you want to go with Emy to see a show tonight? Paramore is at the MSG Theatre and Emy had asked me about tickets, you could see Hayley?”

  
Emy nods her head back and forth while taking a sip of water, I contemplate it. I want alone time with Tegan, but she seems to have something up her sleeve, meaning that I can either go with Emy or Tegan’s going to find some other excuse to get me out of my own place. Something about it makes me uncomfortable, and I didn’t plan on going out tonight whatsoever unless it was to get movies with Tegan. I glance over at my twin, who’s looking at me as if she already expects me to say yes.

  
Well, I guess I don’t have much of a choice then.

  
“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing Hayley. It’s been a while.”

  
Tegan beams at me, and moves to fish her blackberry out of her pocket, and the silence envelops us once more. Emy’s staring at the two of us behind the rim of her water bottle, seeming much too interested in the water bottle itself than what’s going on between us however I know that’s not the case here. Something’s up, but I don’t prod, because if it’s important then it’ll reveal itself to me sooner or later, as it always does.

  
A loud ring interrupts my train of thoughts, Tegan answers the call quickly. “Hey- Yeah, yep- it would be Sara and our art director Emy- Yeah I think you guys have met before,” She looks to Emy, who shrugs her shoulders, not even knowing who Tegan’s on the phone with, “Yeah I think you guys met when we toured- No, no I’ve got plans tonight actually- I know, I know! I’m an awful friend, but hey is that cool?”

  
I zone out, unable to keep up with her bantering, especially a conversation that I could have been finished with twice by now. Tegan ends the call with news of Hayley wanting us to come a backstage few hours early while she’s finishing up some press and Emy leaves after they confirm a date and time, promising to pick me up in her car within the next hour and a half. I nod along to what they’re saying, feeling distracted and sad that tonight wont be primarily spent with the one I want most. Tegan notices, as I expected, and plants herself stomach-first between my legs.

  
“Do you not want to go?” Those puppy dog eyes. Melting me.

  
“No, I do. I just wish you were coming with me is all.”

  
“Well,” She smiles, leaning forward so that our faces are centimeters apart, “You’ll understand why I didn’t when you get home.”

  
Her lips barely touch mine, causing me to seek them out and rise up a little. We kiss and it’s wonderfully excruciating, lighting me up in all of the right places as her hips come down on mine. I feel like doing something violent and sudden, but the urgency goes away when she touches me, lightly, on my waist.

  
I shudder.

  
“Jesus.” Is whispered between us.

  
_Don’t leave again. Please. Open your chest, lock me in there._

  
“Sara?” She asks, breaking our kiss and looking up at me. I nod for her to continue her question, my throat is too dry to speak. “Can I taste you? I haven’t- I’ve been dying to, I need it.”

  
Then I need it too.

  
I nod again, whispering an okay that puts a wide smile on her face. As if I could turn that down.

  
She rises up on her knees and works patiently with the buttons of my jeans, sliding them off of my small legs of bone and skin. I know she can see the lack of muscle and fat, and it embarrasses me so much I feel like crying, though I push away that urgency, too. If she noticed, she says nothing, as she removed my jeans and kisses below my navel. I want her to go slow, to make it all wet and noisy where I can tell that she’s truly set out to taste me, to taste what she does to me.

Her hands move to her hair, quickly tying it into a small ponytail from the black band that was on her wrist, giving me something to tangle my fingers through.

  
I feel my skin heat up on her mouth’s descent to my underwear, and I’m glad when she removes those before they get ruined by my fluids.

A kiss is placed to my thighs, and I watch as her fingers part my inner lips before that mouth- _that tongue_ \- takes a broad lick through the wetness. It makes my head fall back onto the armrest for a split second, but I want to watch everything, so I lift back up as best as I can.

  
She gathers the wetness that’s pooling around my entrance and covers my clit with it, and I watch with low eyelids as her tongue circles my clit slowly. It’s been too long. The desire that’s boiling my blood makes my instincts rise, makes me want to cover her face in the product of her actions, so I take a fistful of her hair and make her circle my clit again- smearing myself all over her cheeks. We moan together at what I’ve done, and I can tell it’s good to her, so I know to continue.

  
“Kiss it.” I moan to her, with “ _fuck_ ,” when she follows my directions, wrapping pink lips around my clit that’s visibly swollen. She tongues it once it’s in her mouth, releasing me with a soft pop that makes my body jerk.

  
We quickly move into a rhythm of me grinding her face against me, feeling her tongue push through the wettest parts of my body with my hand holding her hair in a way that I know has to be hurting her. She doesn’t protest, only lets me do it harder until I feel the orgasm surface.

  
Tegan’s hands find the small of my back beneath my shirt as I begin to convulse, in sobs, as I cum against her mouth. Both of my hands cover my face as I cry, because the embarrassment is a disaster of a moment that was supposed to be happy. She whispers, baby, her face being wiped of my fluid, before I’m held against her body.

  
“What’s gotten into you, Sara?”

  
How is that answered? The thought of you leaving again? The thought of you ever getting bored with me? Or, the image in my mind of you marrying her while you eat me out? And the guilt that follows because fuck, aren’t you supposed to marry her? Isn’t that what I once deemed as “normal” for us to do with our significant others?

  
I wipe beneath my eyes and look up at the honey that’s looking back at me, suspecting and unnerved.

  
“I’m just afraid that you’re going to leave soon.”

  
Tegan watches me for a while longer, and I can tell that she doesn’t believe me, and I can tell that she’ll say nothing about it, because we both know that she’s already told me she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I mean, hell- half of her clothes are in my closet that she brought with her. The stay isn’t permanent, by any means, but are we ever permanent anywhere? She isn’t even permanent in either of her homes.

  
“We can talk when you’re ready, okay?” I nod in agreement, kissing her softly and it tastes like myself which makes me smile- yet frustrated that I ruined such a good orgasm.

  
After a few minutes of struggling to put my jeans back on, I leave Tegan on the couch with a movie and get dressed for tonight in my bedroom. I don’t know why, or what encouraged the mood swing if it wasn’t the sex we just had, but I feel like looking good- feel like making Tegan wish she’d kept me at home instead of sent me off with Emy.

  
So there’s brown leather oxfords on my sockless feet, skin tight black pants, and a slightly oversized sheer white button up beneath my black leather jacket. It’s something she would love, something that I would wear on stage to tease her in, but it’s not the best part by far.

  
Beneath these outermost layers is the set of lingerie she had delivered to my house in Montreal while we were about to go on tour for Sainthood. She claims she sent it as a joke, but I know better. Oh do I know better. The white lace boy-shorts frame my small thighs just right, perhaps a little big but it’s unnoticeable. Same goes for the matching white lace demi-style bra. I tried them on once, and I’ve been meaning to wear them for her before she took so long to come see me, since there wasn’t much time or enough privacy to wear them on the tours.

  
Emy knocks on the door while I’m applying light makeup, and I hear my sister crack a joke about how long it takes me to get ready. She’ll appreciate that later. When I exit the bathroom, Tegan’s on the phone with Lindsey and Emy’s dangling a pair of car keys from her index.

  
I ignore the phone call. “Where the fuck did you get a car?”

  
“Did you forget that my parents live an hour away? I visited them early yesterday morning before I drove back home and walked here, it’s my mom’s car. I figured you’d like to drive instead of taking the subway incase you want to drink, since I’m staying sober. Also, Jesus, Sara. Going to a wedding?”

  
Well, she’s not wrong about the drinking part. I’ll probably need a few cocktails to prepare me for whatever the hell it is that my lover has rolled up her sleeve.

  
Tegan tells Lindsey goodbye, unable to take her eyes off of what I’m wearing. It makes me blush, and I throw her a shy wink to set the hue on her cheeks to even with my own. Eventually, Emy and I make it to the loading deck where Hayley told us to park next to their three tour buses. The entire ride was spent with Emy psychoanalyzing me over what’s going on in my head, which I was prepared for, but had no strength to endure. She thinks I’m lonely, and that I need a partner. I almost, in a way, feel like it’s snide- the way she assumes she knows what’s going on with me, especially given that I left her years ago in a marriage that was once happy. However, I want to think of Emy as better than that, so I blame my feelings on the boredom of being told how “lonely and miserable” my life is when Tegan isn’t with me.

  
Maybe it is, but I’ve no other choice in that matter. I don’t have the energy to date in the way that people are dating nowadays. It’s not as easy for me to go on Facebook and find a partner through instant messaging. What would I do, scan our 1 million plus followers for a partner? I don’t think so.

  
Besides New York is too busy, and even if I did find a woman that I was interested in, could she handle the stress of dating someone who’s gone all but maybe a hundred days out of the year?

  
Could she handle the stress of dating someone who’s forever inundated by their twin sister?

  
Most importantly, _could she compare to Tegan?_

  
These things are not asked of Emy, because they don’t need to be.

She knows. 


	8. Eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! This is a shorter chapter than usual, but I forced myself to sit up for 5 hours and get it to a nice stopping point! 
> 
> Remember to give kudos and comments! Message me here or on my tumblr @quintessentialdreams and tell me what you think about it! 
> 
> My computer edited this one so I apologize for any mistakes made.

Sara

The night has continued as I thought it would. Emy and I are currently in VIP, watching the concert go on. Hayley and I had a moment to speak and catch up backstage before showtime. I take a moment to only wish that Tegan and I had the energy she possesses on stage. She isn’t even that much younger than us, yet she’s somehow equipped with the joints and tirelessness to move from side to side of the stage, never losing one ounce of energy or breath. I smile, watching her pump up the crowd, and take a few sips of my second beer. 

“I invited a friend to come sit with us.” Emy states, looking at her phone that’s lit between the darkness, she’s typing out a message. I scoff.

“Who is it? Please tell me it’s not someone from your gaggle of exclusive New York lesbians. I’m having a good time and I don’t feel like sitting through an interview about my life.” My index and middle fingers air-quote the word “exclusive”, referring to Emy’s regular short haired, feminine, black leather jacket with a standoffish attitude type friend. The type of classic New York City gay that parties at the Metropolitan and believes that they’re mightier than thou because of their card-carrying lesbian status. Tegan loves those types of women. I find them dull and repetitive, unable to conversate unless it’s about sex, money, politics and high-end lifestyle. 

Emy, offended, glares at me from the corner of her eyes. “Actually Sara, she’s not one of those. Her name is Stacy. She works for MSG, and she’s just stopping by because she was already working. Try not to judge her before you meet her.” 

I shrug, already defensive. The alcohol has made me nauseous and bold, not a good combination. I should have had dinner before drinking. My phone vibrates in my pocket, alerting me to a message from Tegan. She has a special vibration so that I know it’s her. I fish it out of my pocket, reading the first message and looking around to make sure no one is behind me to read over my shoulder. 

-Don’t open around anyone... 

The first message reads. I look around once more as an image delivers, before throwing caution to the wind and opening it anyways. 

The first picture is my living room. The lights are dimmed, petals and candles everywhere. I feel my insides clench with nerves, my thighs twitch, I’m reminded that she also has a present waiting for her beneath my clothes. The second picture is my bed. The room looks freshly cleaned, and there’s candles and petals here too. I take a closer look at the bed, noticing the handcuffs and ankle cuffs wrapped from the bottom of the mattress and resting on all four corners. My clit twitches. I feel myself get even wetter, so much so that I must cross my legs. A text is delivered after the first set of pictures. 

-I’m going to remind you why we miss each other like we do.

A final, third picture is delivered. The image is of her lower half. Her left hand is lifting up a black sweater, showing off an incredibly toned abdomen. Black straps sit snug around her hipline, attached to a prominent bulge beneath the elastic band of her briefs that are lowered with her dark pants. I am firmly sweating now, glad to have the alcohol as an excuse for my flushed features. 

“Emy, I need to use the restroom, I’ll be back in just a second.” I tell her, getting out of the chair quickly before she can ask any questions. I move through the VIP stands, keeping my head down in hopes that I won’t be recognized. The mission is successful as I make my way towards the backstage rooms, showing my pass to the towering security guard next to the door. He nods me back, opening the black door for me. I walk hastily towards the nearest single bathroom stall I can find, closing and locking the door behind me. Lucky for me, the lighting is warm, and the restroom isn’t sterile. Clean, but not like a hospital, not like the many grody bathrooms I’ve been in at a venue. I quickly unbutton the first few notches of my shirt, allowing the lace bra to show through until I find it enough. I do the same to my pants, unbuttoning the belt loop and allowing the clasps to hang. I undo my top button and zipper, sliding down the black pants until the garter belt is barely visible, but visible enough for her to notice. A picture is snapped and sent, and the message below it reads, 

-I think I can handle that. 

She knows to delete the images as soon as they’re sent, it’s an agreement we share between the two of us, so I delete the ones of her before putting my clothing back together. I pee quickly, wash my hands, and exit the bathroom more flustered than I was before I got here. I return to a stranger sitting in between my seat and Emy. The woman is tall, dressed to the nines in a black feminine romper, and brunette. Her nose is strong, Italian, and her eyelashes dark. As I approach, they both turn from their conversations and onto me. The stranger smiles; I notice as she lowers her eyes to my outfit, then back up to my face. Was that a move? I recoil at the thought, but offer my hand for her to shake, nonetheless. My subconscious is groaning, torn between agreeing that she’s beautiful in order to flirt, versus remembering what’s waiting for me back home and reveling in that. This is not an appropriate place or time. 

“Sara,” Emy speaks, smiling at me, “This is Stacy, a good friend of mine.” 

I nod, letting go of her soft grip a little too abruptly. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sara. Emy told me you work here?” 

“I do, I’m the event coordinator.” 

“She’s also single.” 

I make quick, sharp eyes at my friend. Watching the red tint take over Stacy as she becomes bashful from Emy’s ridiculous comment, so I deflect while taking my seat. The bashfulness is cute, that’s admittible. 

“Well, that’s surprising. There’re so many people in New York. Are you picky like the rest of us?” 

Stacy coughs, “You bet I am. My standards are higher than the skyscrapers.” 

I nod, seeming disinterested to join the conversation Emy begins about dating in New York. Hayley is still going up on stage, directing the crowd to sway their hands at the slow melody. Tegan and I could only hope to one day perform in front of crowds as interested in us as these people, instead of the rowdy lesbians screaming in the middle of our banters because of alcohol. It’s upsetting, and sometimes makes me want to stop the show, but we expect it to one day get better. In my pocket, my phone buzzes, so I discreetly take it out. Quickly, I read the message from my sister. 

-Come home.

“Anyway, Sara. I was thinking, we should grab dinner after the show? Stacy says she’s down for it.” 

The offer makes me pause. I realize immediately what this meeting is about, and I am angry. Emy should know better than to try and set me up with someone in such a way, she knows what’s going on in my life, how hard things have been. Why would I drag someone else into this? Why would she want to drag someone else into it? My bad mood towards her grows. 

My eyes address Emy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll join you two tonight, I’m actually about to head home. Can I speak to you before I leave, Emy?” 

Dejected, and irritated at my refusal, Emy nods and stands up. Her guest is awkwardly watching the show with her legs crossed, noticing the tense shift of mood between us through my reaction. I feel guilty, but unbothered by my own rudeness, which only bothers me more than I’m unfazed. There will be time to apologize later. I drag Emy a few steps away from listening ears. 

“What are you trying to do? Are you trying to set me up with her?” 

She scoffs, “Would it be a bad thing if I was?” 

“I barely know that woman, you can’t just blindly hook me up with some stranger. I’m not in the position to be in a relationship right now, Emy.” 

“You’re joking right? Clearly from the past few months, it doesn’t seem like you’re in the position to be out of one either.” 

The statement bites my gut and puts acid on my teeth. My friend is standing her ground, however, with crossed arms and raised brows. I lower my eyes, glaring, hurt from the remark despite never admitting it. 

“I’m leaving.” I seethe, eyes crossing her once over, “I have dinner waiting for me at home… Enjoy your night.” 

Emy’s expression becomes dejected once she realizes the innuendo. It was low for me to say, much lower than her own snarky comment. Just another thing I’ll have to apologize for later on. She nods, walking back to the chairs, so I turn and head for the exit. My body is restless and fired up, from both the conversation and the messages. I make haste to call a cab, needing to be home quickly so to meet my relief. 

In the cab, I shift from bouncing my leg to tapping on my phone. My core aches, and I’ve all but forgotten the altercation that happened before. There’s a moment on the horizon I’ve been waiting for, it’s been months, I’ve been dreaming of it. There’s a certain power that Tegan possesses when she fucks in the way I’m expecting her to do tonight. Her motions are relentless, her speed unforgiving. It cures each part of me that aches. This alternatively saddens me, knowing that there likely won’t be someone I meet that could amount to that. With her, it’s like I’m a sex addict. It’s so good, how could I not be, and I know for her it is the same. We feed off one another, and there is no such thing as a small dose. Nothing can be taken from either one of us without overdosing. 

I pay the driver and head into my building, still buzzing from the beer. The window of my apartment from the outside exudes darkness, no overhead light illuminates the room, not that the room can be seen from the streets anyways. I’m twitching, and my clit jumps from the thoughts filling up my mind. 

“Tee?” I call out into the dark hallway once I arrive at my door. 

“Dining room, Sara.” 

So I go to her, eyes gleaming above the candlelight that glows around the apartment. I feel like we’re dating, in a real relationship, not twins, and I imagine that I am met with this after a long day of work, instead of the drama that eats us alive from our predicament. In this fantasy, I would have told her that instead of going out for date night, we could just do something at home instead. She would have agreed and made this happen for me to come home to. 

When I step into the dining room, she’s in the process of pulling out a chair for me. We’re both dressed nicely, and it makes me blush like a school girl. Again, I’m thinking of the date, how this seems like a date, how much I would give for us to just do this realistically and in the public eye for only a week. Just one week. I’d do anything. I’d show her off to the world. I would marry her tomorrow. She meets eyes with me, and the love I have for her boils up out of my chest, spilling out of my eyelids in the form of salty tears welling up to the surface. Neither of us move, but the look is understood as the world stands still. She has both hands on the top of the chair, mid-motion of pulling it out for me, but we stand here in silence and the chair is sat back down. In the look, she understands what I’m trying to say but can’t. It is our god damn curse to bear, and we will always have to bear it with strength, the closed doors and shut off blinds. We will always love in silence. We will always express this part of us alone. But that, 

Even that, 

Can’t alter the truth. And the truth is simple, I will unconditionally love her with each atom, each sinew, each muscle cell and nerve cell, until my soul no longer exists. In Tegan’s eyes I see familiarity, and comfort, and grace. I see someone I’ve looked at for many lifetimes, someone I’ve loved for many lifetimes. I cannot be bothered to fear my own jealousy, for it will always exist as it always has. This is my partner. She was my partner before our birth, and so she will be after death.

She smiles and moves her eyes to the floor. It’s a small smile, but it tells me that she knows the rush of feelings running through my body. She understands the motions I’m going through, and further than that- she feels them too. 

I return the smile, wipe my wet eyes, and sit in the chair. Once she’s sat next to me at the small round table we begin eating. 

“Fucking hell this is good. Did you make this?” 

Tegan laughs, my favorite kind of deep, throaty laughter. “I did. I’ve been cooking more lately. Bought this cookbook in Hawaii, do you like it?” 

“I love it.” 

The dinner is consumed quickly, soaking up the alcohol in my tummy that’s making me tipsy. After a handful of minutes have passed, and the meal is almost through, I take a moment to sit back and enjoy what’s in front of me while sipping the wine Emy brought yesterday. We are both quiet, having been enjoying the food and each other’s company. Sometimes it’s just nice to sit in silence with her, especially after these two days of recurring arguments. The one thing I know for sure Tegan and I will never stop doing, besides the mind-shattering sex. 

“I love you.” My declaration hits her ears and she smiles again, flushed and bashful. Butterflies erupt all around me and inside of me. Only now do I notice that even for Tegan, even for this rare makeshift dinner date, my sister is acting strange. Much too quiet, and strange. 

“Stop being shy, why are you being shy?” 

A sigh falls out of her mouth, “Because I want to tell you something.” 

Her face has slightly fallen. She almost looks, almost guilty. Oh no. 

I toss my napkin to the side and place my fork on the plate. 

“Don’t ruin this.” 

“What?” She glances at me, confused. 

“Don’t ruin this.” My hands gesture at the setup, the leftover food and wine and candles. “I don’t want whatever you’re about to show me to take this away. You don’t understand how much I-“ The knot hits my throat. “How much, how much I-“ 

Need this. Have needed this for months. 

“Hey,” Her hand covers my own. “I’m not going to ruin anything.” 

Tired of beating around the bush, “Okay, so say it.” 

My prompt sits in her brain for a split second before her eyes grow dark. 

“You want to know?” 

I nod. 

“Okay.” She leans around the table, placing her mouth in a kiss to the crook of my neck before nuzzling into my ear. Suddenly, the pins and needles have returned from her proximity, the chills coat the back of my neck. It’s common, and one of the reasons why touching her is often avoided when we’re out in public. It’s as if her mere fucking presence makes me- 

“It makes me so, so fucking wet, to see you sitting here all dressed up like that and know what I’m about to do to you.” 

My skin sets fire, rushing through my neck and between my breasts, down into my core once again. But, at my sister’s whim, I am left with no mercy. 

“In all honesty, I don’t think I can wait any longer. Stand up.” She ushers me from the seat. In a quick, too quick motion my chair is pushed backwards, and her body takes its place. Hands quickly move the plates to the edge of the table before my own arms are taken into her grasp, a vice grip, and brought behind my back. I arch like a cat back into her from the treatment. Never, not once, has this been our dynamic. I am so turned on and out of place that all I can manage is a quick gasp as my ass hits her crotch. 

I feel it beneath her jeans. 

“This is how we’re going to do this.” 

She frees a hand and grips the table in front of me, pushing herself further into my backside. I gasp again, wondering where in the possible, flying hell she pulled this from. 

“Tonight, I am “Ma’am”, got it? When I ask a question, answer me that way. Second, you’ll be taking over my safe words. Yellow for slow down, red for stop. Understand?” 

Jesus Christ. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Great.” 

I am roughly pushed into the table, so much so that my breasts and cheekbone are squished into the wooden top. I groan into the air. Her hand reaches beneath me to undo my belt and button. I soon find my pants around my ankles and a gasping groan is returned from my sister. It seems as though she’s found her surprise. 

“Fuck, Sara, that’s even sexier in person.” She palms at the lace covering my ass cheeks, then rips it nearly in half to get them off. Rage fills my body at the knowledge that she just tore $100 fabric, however not a word is to be said about it. In the silence between her sentences, I hear metal clanking before handcuffs are sealed around my wrists. This action makes my toes nearly curl off the floor behind my shoes. “Tell me something, little sis.” 

“Yes ma’am?” The skin of my chest is burned alive at the name I am called. 

I hear her own pants being undone. “Let’s say I bought something for you today, okay?” 

“Yes ma’am?” 

The moan rips its way out of my throat as she runs the head of her attachment through my vulva, ensuring that I am ready for her. I can hear her gasping from behind me. Each arm burns from the position I’m in, threatening to surely pop something out of place, however a word about it is not muttered as I wait for the end of her question. 

“Do you think you could take ten inches?” 

I scream from the pleasureful burn as the cock is pushed into my walls. Tegan holds into my hips, giving me no time to recover, no time to think about the fact that I’ve never taken something this big. I tangle my hands together and hold on for dear life. 

 

Tegan

Bruises are surely to form on Sara’s ass and thighs from my hipbones and the table. I can’t remember fucking her like this. I watch the motion as the new, shiny from her fluids, flesh colored dildo is repeatedly slammed into her cunt. Tonight, I have no mercy. 

The original plan was to tell her that I got the tattoo over dinner, but that was interrupted from my own concern once she expressed disdain at being disappointed. It was impossible. I couldn’t say what I had meant to say and ruin her evening. Truthfully, I’m terrified over her impending anger over the tattoo, but I am still unregretful that I got it. It, like her, is a piece of me, so the plan had to change. I had intended on the playing to come after she calmed down over the tattoo, not before. I would be foolish to say that the new plan isn’t benefitting me. Who knows? She might even be more receptive to the fresh ink after this. Something tells me she’ll barely be able to say much. 

I pull out of her quickly and replace it with my fingers inside of her, raising more curses of approval from her lips. Unlike me, she generally prefers fingers and tongue over the dildo. Lucky for her, I plan on using all three tonight. 

Another finger is added, making three, making her legs quiver how I want them to. I slow down enough to increase the intensity. Still thrusting hard enough, but slowly, in slower increments, and curling once I’m inside. Sara’s walls feel like silk. It’s scalding hot inside of her and past the ridges of flesh rests her g-spot. I slam into it once, twice slowly, then speed up. She yells out once more, and her face is turned so I can see each eyebrow curl and meet in the middle. Such a good girl to take it like this, the pain and pleasure. 

“I hope you don’t have many things to do tomorrow.” I grunt, keeping up the slow, rough pace. “Since you won’t be able to walk properly.” 

The impending orgasm draws closer, I feel it in the way she closes sporadically around my three fingers. It hugs me like a glove, before letting go, before coming back once more. Her voice, like an angel, rises too. It’s melodic to my ears. I could cum solely from her moaning along, especially when the pitch changes to my own gratification. When she cums, her feet lift completely off of the floor. It’s so powerful that liquid coats my hands and pants. The table rocks forward, sending the plates and wine glasses into the floor with a smashing echo of broken glass.

“Look at what you’ve done.” I speak loudly. “There’s cum all over my pants and broken glass in the floor.” 

In a mock rage, I pull out of her and spank the flesh with a wet hand, the moisture causing it to sound much harder than it was. The hard ones are saved for later. I pull her torso off of the table, careful to not genuinely hurt her shoulders while doing it. As I pull her upright, I notice tears have stained her makeup. Sara sees me notice this and gives a nod, letting me know that it’s not tears from pain, lest not emotional, and to continue. 

“Get on your knees.” I order, nearly trembling as she immediately does as she’s told. What I’m wanting from her is rarely explored by me, though thoroughly done by me if she asks me to while our positions are reversed. It’s not often that I wear the strap on, and quite honestly, I almost have felt awkward while doing so in the past, but it’s been heavily noted lately that this is what she desires from me, so it is what she is given. 

Sara immediately knows what I am asking, and she does so without question. A gush rushes out of me at the thought that I am the only one she’d submit like this for. It too has been heavily noted. 

Right with our dynamic tonight, I take a fistful of her short hair and direct her mouth to the cock, allowing the view of her widow’s peak to turn me on as it always has and always will. Despite the ten inches in length, the cock is not ridiculously thick from knowing that she probably couldn’t handle that as tight as she is. Tonight, we are hurting in the right ways. 

“I’m going to push your head down slowly. Don’t be afraid to gag, I encourage it even. Tug backwards if it’s too much.” 

She nods, unable to speak with her mouth full, so I let it slide. 

Watching Sara’s mouth descend, knowing she’s fully tasting herself, has to be the hottest thing humanly possible on this planet. If there were any other woman doing this to me, I’d likely be repulsed. Watching Lindsey perform the same acts would turn me off to the thought of her genuinely doing this to that guy she was with when I met her. Perhaps it’s the notion that I’m pushing Sara’s limits and exploring her boundaries. Perhaps it’s the explicitness of it all. Whatever it may be that attracts me to this image, I allow it to happen, feeling my clit swell with blood at the visual. I understand now, completely, how Sara gets off to this. 

My hand pushes her head into the cock a little roughly, ears fully tuned into the sound of her softly gagging. Tears spring into her eyes, but I have yet to feel her tug backwards. She must be breathing through her nose. 

“Good girl.” I encourage. With my right hand, I reach and gently wrap around her throat beneath her jawline, feeling it expand as she takes more into her mouth.   
Fuck. I explore the thought of this being real, but she and I both know that if it were, I would have never lasted this long. Part of my brain jumps to the consideration that if Sara and I were born fraternal, and different sexes, none of this would be real. It’s likely that we would have feared our consequences of having sex much more than we do now. 

I shove the thought away, like I do each time, as she finally tugs backwards on my hand. I release her with a pop, enamored with the string of saliva that snaps off of her lips and back onto the phallus. 

“Fuck.” She mutters. My thumb wipes the excess saliva and cum off of her lips, cleaning her disheveled state up a little. 

On second thought...

“Stay.” I order. My clit is bursting as she nods, blinking the excess tears from her eyes. I cannot possibly take it any longer, so I make the quick decision to keep her mouth dirty in order to give myself release before we continue with her pleasure. 

My boots are shrugged off and discarded, along with my pants and underwear, and finally the attachment that I place behind me for later use. I make a mental note to tread carefully through the dining room in case of glass. 

Sara seems to finally understand what I’m going after once I sit down in the chair behind her. She turns, unable to take her eyes off me, and waits for direction. Slowly, gently so that I don’t immediately cum from first touch, I lower her mouth onto my clit. 

That tongue. That god damn tongue touches me, my most sensitive parts, and I all but lose it. One broad lick through my center and onto my clit causes my legs to jerk and my head to go backwards. I tremble in her mouth and hiss, allowing her to adorn the smug look that immediately takes over the expression on her face. She breaks me down by straightening her tongue and doing circles. It takes less than three seconds for me to cum. Unashamed, I press her mouth into my center to watch her drink what she’s created. The orgasm is forceful, shattering, causing me to rock against the cold padding of her dining room chair. I hiss once more at the sensitivity as she cleans the cum from my legs. Sara the tease, my outer labia is pulled into her mouth and sucked on. I nearly orgasm again. 

“Shit, Sare.” I curse, looking down at dark eyes. She winks at me, reminding me that despite any effort I give to reign over her, it is she who can put me on my knees the quickest. I allow myself a minute to recuperate, taking that time to lean into my lover with a forceful kiss. 

I love you. I tell her. I love her. It’s in my blood. It is my blood. It’s written in my entire genetic makeup to worship her ‘til death and beyond. Our lips devour one another, sucking and biting until swollen. I am reminded now that we are equal.

***

Straps. Four of them. Padded cuffs on both ends. Each strap contains each of Sara’s limbs and I slowly, self-servingly, rock into her. I have worn her out to the point of oblivion. The bed is coated with sweat, the house coated with sex. It is by far the longest we have gone in this lifetime. 6 orgasms ago I stopped counting, and it’s been hours since then. If I listen closely, birds are heard chirping outside of the window, casting pale early morning light into the room. I slow myself, reaching up between my own emotions to unstrap her wrists so she can hold onto me. I need it, I need the security. I find it ironic that in the thing we do most, connecting ourselves like this, it is the thing that brings me back to earth and opens me up to her more than anything. She can barely hold her eyes open, and I am likewise, but the tears manage to seep out of us regardless. My shirt has came off along with the rest of our clothes, yet within the frame of our naked bodies sliding against one another, she has yet to notice my tattoo and I have yet to say something to her. 

I have given into her, given myself fully to her once more. The playing ended once I got her into missionary on the bed. It’s our most vulnerable position, where we can combine our skin and sweat, look the other in the eyes and expose ourselves. I pump all ten inches into her slowly and fuck her, crying, to sleep, with promises of eternity. 

Everlasting, unbreakable, perpetual, boundless, 

Deathless eternity. 

“Sara?” I ask. Kissing the salt from her cheek. She hazily turns towards me. Her last orgasm has passed, it was gentle, so gentle that I could barely tell it happened before she gave a few small shakes into my body. I kiss her cheek once more and sob. My energy is spent on her, but I’d ask for none of it back. Her head turns into me again. Her eyes tell me she’s barely awake, if she’s even awake at all. It’s the moment before restful sleep. I ache and cry again at knowing that she’s probably about to sleep better than she has in months, since the last time she fell asleep so unguarded in my arms this way. It could be manipulative of me to use this time, when she’s completely unable to react properly, so close to sleep that she might not even hear me, to tell her about the fresh tattoo on my shoulder beneath her hand as she holds me. 

“Huh?”

I look at her face, her closed eyes. 

“I got a tattoo for you. You’re probably going to hate me for getting it when you see it. Please don’t be mad at me.” I ask of her, but I am met with the quiet sounds of snoring. “Fuck.” I mutter into her neck, pulling out of her as gentle as possible and throwing the item onto the floor to clean later. 

The blankets are pulled up to our neck as she turns towards me in her sleep, resting her head on my chest. I give the slightest kiss to her hair line, telling her goodnight, before allowing my own body to succumb. 

An ring from a cellphone wakes me up, and my body can tell that it is an ungodly hour of the day, likely well into the evening. I blink my eyes to find my sister inches away from me, with heavy eyes and a small smile on her face. 

“Good evening.” She speaks. I notice immediately that her face likely matches my own, and we both probably look exhausted. Parts of me ache. It’s in my thighs, hips, and abdomen. God only knows how she’s feeling. I almost ask her, but I don’t quite feel like speaking yet, allowing myself just an extra moment of peace. She’s likely noticed the tattoo, given that the covers are beneath my breasts and the tattoo is right in front of her. 

“How are you feeling?” 

I stare into her eyes, looking for any trace of anger but finding none. 

“Like we just had sex until this morning. I want to lay in bed with you all day. Um,” I stutter, “Did you-

She smiles again, not showing teeth, “I’m not mad at you.” 

“You’re not? But-“

“It’s beautiful. I cried this morning when I woke up and it was staring at me.” Her hand is lifted off my side and onto my arm, where she lightly traces around the image. “Also, I wasn’t asleep last night, I heard what you said to me.” 

“You shit.” I giggle, smiling back at her. “Jesus I was terrified, Sare.”

Her body scoots closer to my own, before my lips are taken into hers. The soreness in my mouth lets itself be known as she kisses me, but I don’t give a damn. Not a single damn. I kiss her back with pride. 

“You don’t have to be terrified. I do worry that people might make the connection, it’s quite obvious, and don’t you dare ever tell me how much you spent on it, but I think it’s beautiful.” 

If most of last night had not sucked my tear ducts dry, I would be crying again.   
“It’s my favorite picture of us, which already has symbolism to it. But the bars, because I feel like I’m in a cage with you, we’ll always be in a cage. Always be a fucking tiger in a cage.” 

Sara giggles, biting the skin beneath my jaw. “Definitely a tiger after last night.” 

“Oh my god.” I groan, shoving my face into the pillow. “Why are you so cheesy.” 

“I’m only like this with you, be happy about that.” 

I give her a look that says, “I am”, and we stay silent for a while, looking at the other’s faces. I think about something my mother used to drill into our heads as teenagers, because we couldn’t cope with our typical stress. She used to constantly remind us that most of what we worry about will never come true. I find peace in that, especially when it works out in my favor, but it is also terrifying at the same time. I worry that the one thing I do worry about most, tied into this tattoo, might be that one worry that does end up coming true. That being the world finding out about us somehow, someway, through someone, and destroying everything I have. I don’t like to think about it, it’s an awful thought, but I wonder what would happen if the wrong person found out about us. If we were ever caught. If we were ever too reckless. I wonder if mum would still love us, or would she disown us and have nothing to do with Sara and I. 

Sometimes I worry that the repercussions of our relationship might be more seismically detrimental than we might consider, I mean, we could go to prison for this right? For this connection we have right here? All because this woman, my twin, breathing peacefully next to me has unfortunately caught the same predicament I did as a teenager. Like last night, I allow myself to drift into thoughts of different situational circumstances between us. What if? What if I was a boy, or more likely, Sara was a boy, and we felt the same? Would things have been different? I can’t honestly say. One of us would have had to be fixed before consummating. It seems like a joke but, what if that rang true? I plead with the universe to fix this next time. To allow us to be normal lovers. We would meet in high school or college, fall in love, get married and have children and live in a house. Sara would be a literature teacher or a designer or some shit and I would, I don’t know, do radio or taxes or something. I plead in my mind for it to happen, for us to get lucky, for us to not be in a tougher situation. We are twin flames that born as twins. I can only hope to do enough good that this curse can be lifted. 

Sara finds me lost in thought and brings me back to earth. 

“Tegan?” She whispers. “Can I ask you something?” 

I nod, willing her to continue. She pauses for a while, collecting her thoughts. 

“What ran through your mind when Emy and Lindsey walked in on us in New Orleans?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and love are always appreciated! Next chapter coming soon.


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